


Leave it to Coulson

by immoral_crow, johanirae



Series: Leave it to Coulson [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, It's all gone a bit Jeeves & Wooster, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:43:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2504957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immoral_crow/pseuds/immoral_crow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/johanirae/pseuds/johanirae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is tough for a Gentleman's Gentleman – and while Phil Coulson might be the best in the business, he has met his match in Clint Barton. Can Phil manage to extricate Barton from a series of unfortunate engagements? Will he be able to untangle the unholy mess that Barton's friends have made of their lives? And will Loki's plans for the village fete leave Aunt Fury with cake on her face?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I say, Coulson

**Author's Note:**

> Art master post by Johanirae: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2500094 (also as part two of the series).
> 
> Working with Johanirae is always a complete pleasure – she has been instrumental in shaping this story and its characters, and I can't even begin to explain how exciting and inspiring it is to open an email from her and find such wonderful art. 
> 
> I also have to thank my cheerleaders H and D for their enthusiasm and unflagging support, and Selori for her unstinting beta reading. There are very few beta readers who wouldn't have mocked me mercilessly for some of the mistakes I made and I am privileged to have found such a supportive and kind person to work with. Any remaining mistakes and inconsistencies are wholly my own.

“Wooster?” The man at the door echoed, looking almost comically confused. “No, my name is Barton.” He frowned, his face twisting with the effort of thought, before an idea occurred to him and he lit up like a retriever puppy. “But you must be Jeeves?”  
  
“Indeed, no, sir,” Phil said, suppressing a sigh. “My name is Coulson.”

“Ah. So, not the Jeeves the Agency was sending then?” Barton asked, still hopeful, as if Phil would discover that he had been wrong about his name all along. 

“I’m afraid not, sir, although the Agency _did_ send me.”

“This is all terribly confusing.” Barton scrubbed his hand through his already unruly hair, and Phil recognised all the signs of a hangover of epic proportions. “I mean, are you a valet or are you not?”

“I’m a gentleman’s personal gentleman,” Phil said. “And it does appear as if the Agency has mixed up my papers. I was expecting to be engaged by a Mr. Wooster…” 

“Bah.” Barton fixed him with a peculiarly discerning gaze. “You’re here now. Let’s hear no more of this Wooster chap. Man sounds like a damn bore if you ask me.”

Phil raised an eyebrow sceptically. He’d seen Wooster’s entry in _The Book_ at the Junior Ganymede Club – who hadn’t? – but at least he was a known quantity. He’d never heard of Barton, and Phil had heard of _everyone_. 

On the other hand… Barton was an unknown. Phil could be the making of him. And despite the rough exterior, the man had Potential. 

Mind made up, Phil squared his shoulders. “Indeed, sir. Now,” he cocked his head enquiringly, “if I might step inside, I believe I can whip up something that will improve your morning immeasurably.” 

“Really?” Barton raised an eyebrow but stepped back and held out an arm in the general direction of the interior. “You’d be the first to do so, if what you say is true.”

“Sir,” Phil brushed past him, restraining a shudder at the state of the apartment, “I have never yet been called a liar.”

He was utterly unsurprised to find the liquor bottles he needed dotted around Barton’s living quarters. Given the general standard of the housekeeping, he would have been shocked had it been otherwise. 

Barton stood over his shoulder, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck in what Phil would maintain was a very unbecoming manner. 

“I’m between valets,” he said, as Phil picked up the bottle of gin and glanced round in search of the bitters. “And I may have fallen out with the housekeeper.”

“Indeed, sir,” Phil said. He would normally have applauded the lady in question – Barton seemed like an acquired taste, to put it kindly – but even under the layer of disorder that was all too apparent, the apartment had clearly not been cleaned in far too long. He bit back his comment in favour of tipping the final ingredients into a cocktail shaker. 

“Yes.” Barton shuffled his feet, his eyes fixed on the one clean martini glass Phil had managed to find as Phil poured the cocktail into it. “So, do you intend to stay?”

“I am only human, sir.” Phil handed over the drink with as much aplomb as he could muster. “I see that I am needed here.”

Barton sipped the drink, the blatant distrust on his face being replaced by a look of stunned wonder. “Well, if you can make drinks like this, Coulson, then I don’t think we’ll go far wrong.” 

oOo

“What did you call that drink?” Barton’s voice cut through Phil’s focus on the horribly stubborn stain on the top of the baby grand piano. 

“The Agent,” Phil said, frowning down at the mark. A French polish would probably fix it, but it galled him to have to call for outside help. “Always helpful when you’re in a tight corner.” 

Barton nodded sagely. “I say, Coulson. You’ve done a great job on the place.”

Phil inclined his head. “I’ve made a good start, sir. But there is still a lot to do.”

“Make sure I can recognise the old homestead,” Barton said. “I wouldn’t want to get home from the Drones and think I’d gone to the wrong place.”

“Homestead?” Phil put down the duster and turned his full attention to Barton. “You’re American?”

“In part.” Barton glanced away. “I suppose I used to be, anyway.”

“And your stay here is long enough that you’ll require a valet?”

Barton flushed. “Yes. I mean… I’ve settled here now.”

His discomfort for the topic was so palpable that Phil took pity on him. “Very good, sir,” he said. “You intend to visit your Club?”

“I do.” Barton’s shoulders relaxed visibly. “But will you be okay here?”

Phil smirked. “I should imagine so, sir,” he said. “There is certainly plenty to be getting on with.”

“Well,” Barton glanced around the room. “In that case, I should probably leave you to it?”

“As you say, sir.” Phil inclined his head in a quasi-servile bow. “I should find my own accommodation?”

“No!” Barton stood to attention, as if affronted. “Your room would be opposite mine.” He gestured down the hallway that ran off the living room. “If that is acceptable?”

“Perfectly.” Phil smiled, willing Barton to relax. “I will remain here tonight, with your permission, sir.”

“Of course!” Barton looked surprised that he might have thought otherwise. “Please, take anything you might need.”

Phil smiled his assent. “And I will remain awake until your return from your Club.”

For the first time Barton looked taken aback. “Oh, I say. Coulson. There is no need for that. I might return from the Drones at any hour, and there is no need for you to remain awake.”

“Really?” Phil inclined an eyebrow in polite disapproval. “And how will you disrobe?”

“By myself,” Barton said. “As I am used to.”

Phil nodded, the answer confirming his suspicions. “That would explain the state of your cravat,” he said. “It would be better if I remained awake to deal with the inevitable fallout.” 

“Fallout?” Barton sniffed. “You lack faith, Coulson. Once you’ve worked for me a bit longer you will discover that a Barton evening out is a convivial affair of good conversation and witty repartee. There is no _fallout_.”

“As you say, sir.”

Barton shot him an accusing look. “I say, it’s a damn sight too much when one’s valet doubts your every word, Coulson. What happened to having a chap’s back in his hour of need, eh?”

“I would hardly call this an hour of need, sir,” Phil said, calmly moving to help Barton into an overcoat. “A moment of requirement, perhaps.”

It startled Barton into a laugh, relaxed his face, and Phil saw, with a jolt, how attractive Barton could be when the distinctions of class were wiped away. 

“…but far be it from me to argue,” he continued smoothly, stepping back and handing Barton the scarf that was lying in a heap on the bureau next to the apartment door. 

Barton nodded, his face shuttering and every trace of the open laughter vanishing as if it had never been there. 

“Right,” he said, putting more distance between himself and Phil. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. No need to be too early – the Drones often run late.” 

He almost tripped over his feet as he backed out the door, and Phil managed to bite back his smile with rigid control until the door closed behind him. 

In fact he waited for the sound of the elevator doors sliding shut before he allowed his face to relax and turned to face the room. 

He hadn’t had the space to assess it properly before – to do so when Barton might observe him would be the height of bad manners – and he had limited himself to addressing the most minor of its defects. Now he was at liberty to look his fill, and he almost wished he had been deprived the chance. To call it chaotic was to do it the English language a disservice. 

After all, there were plenty of good words like _shambles_ or _mayhem_ that didn’t get used nearly enough. 

Phil sighed and plucked a luridly patterned purple waistcoat from the back of a chair. For some reason that he could not fathom, it was covering a quiver of arrows. 

He had his work cut out here, sure enough. 

Nonetheless, the quality of the cloth was excellent; the furniture he could see rising from the detritus like icebergs from the Atlantic was both stylish and well made. 

Yes, he thought as he picked up a shirt from where it had fallen to the floor and took it and the waistcoat to Barton’s bedroom. Barton had promise. True enough, it would take time to polish him, but Phil had learnt to trust his instincts years ago, and he could tell from looking: Barton was a diamond in the rough, and with polish – and judicious cutting – he would _shine_. 

It was the valet’s dream – to find a gentleman without reputation or prestige, and to turn him into a society hit – and now Phil thought he had found the gentleman who would make his name.

After he had finished with Barton, he thought, whisking up a pair of discarded underwear from beside the bed, he would be sought by every aspirant to fashion in England – even further if Barton introduced him to America, and Phil, in his heart, knew that the future lay in the New World. 

Armed with such appealing fantasies, he set to clearing the bedroom, assigning clothes to be laundered or discarded according to their colours and patterns. It was with some shock that he discovered an old but excellently made cello. 

He had assumed that the no-man’s land in the corner of Barton’s room was as ramshackle as the rest of the apartment, but the instrument was in good condition, free of dust, and there was music on the stand before it. Giving in to his curiosity, Phil saw that it was a mixture of classical pieces and modern jazz. He returned the scores to the stand, taking care to maintain them in their original order. If Barton _was_ the musician – and the point remained to be proved – then he was skilled. 

Reserving judgement, Phil left the instrument alone, only moving the bow from its place on a side table to a more secure perch on Barton’s dressing table. 

By the time Barton returned from his Club, the night was well advanced. 

Phil had restored order to the apartment, had turned down the covers on Barton’s bed and laid out his night clothes, and had set a glass of water on the bedside table. 

He was sitting in the kitchen, having turned out the cupboards and pantry, and was engaged with making a list to send to the grocer when he heard the front door open and the voice of Sitwell, the porter, as he helped Barton into the apartment. 

From the sound of Barton’s stumbling progress through the room, Phil judged that his evening had been eventful, though he seemed to be making some attempt at being stealthy if the muttered “Shhhhhh” noises were anything to go by. 

Frowning slightly, Phil rose from his seat and removed his apron before making his way towards Barton. 

“May I be of assistance, sir?”

Startled by his voice, Barton jumped, and it was only Phil’s sharp reflexes that saved a beautiful William Moorcroft vase, which Phil had admired earlier, from ending up as a heap of shards on the floor. 

“I thought I said not to stay up,” Barton said as Phil set the vase back on its small table. “’m damn sure I said it.”

“You said something of the sort,” Phil said, noting with some dismay just how angry Barton looked. “But I would not be fulfilling my role if I were to allow…”

“Allow?” Barton’s eyes flashed. “What makes you think you are in a position to ‘allow’ anything?” He pulled himself up to his full height, looking more intimidating than he had any right to given his dishevelled state. “I am my own man, Coulson, and if we are going to work together then you’re going to need to meet me halfway.”

“Sir?” Phil’s voice caught in his throat and he fought to keep his face impassive. 

Barton sighed, and sagged. He looked tired, Phil saw, more tired than the hour and the evening he had spent could account for. 

“Listen to me, Coulson. I need a valet. Every _gentleman_ in this Goddamn country needs a valet if he’s going to be accepted. But I am American through and through and there is no damn way I am having someone waiting on me like I’m some sort of great lord.”

He glared at Phil, and all Phil could do was nod in response. 

“You can advise me on whatever you like; you can do what you want with the apartment; and you can arrange my routine to whatever you choose – but you’ll stop treating me like I’m any better than you, and you will let me undress myself.” He stared at Phil, completely earnest. “And if you can’t agree to that, you’ll leave in the morning and find yourself another appointment, and leave me to try and find a valet I can get on with.” 

Phil swallowed, and nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say to this – it certainly wasn’t the way he was used to working, but the offer to be treated as an equal was all the more attractive for it – but Barton obviously took the gesture as one of dismissal as he turned on his heel and entered his bedroom, closing the door gently yet firmly behind him. 

Not sure what else to do, Phil turned out the lights and withdrew to his own room, feeling guilty despite himself for not helping Barton. He unpacked the few belongings he had brought with him, placing them onto his dressing table by rote, before preparing for bed.

When he finished, there was silence for a moment, before the soft sounds of Bach’s Cello Suite wound their way through the flat. Phil blinked, any question in his mind about whether Barton could play resolved. He sat on the edge of his bed and listened to the flow of music, rich with emotion, until it ended and the last note hung, trembling, in the air. 

Tomorrow, he decided as he heard Barton preparing for bed, he would decide what to do.

Any half-considered plans to examine his new situation died as soon as his head hit the pillow, and instead of lying awake, listening to the silence in the apartment as he expected to, Phil slept. 

oOo

He was still in a state of indecision when he awoke, and in the quiet of the early morning, he busied himself in the kitchen, awaiting Barton’s summons. 

There was still much to be done to bring the apartment up to his exacting standards, but he chose to concentrate on preparing Barton’s breakfast. 

He had not forgotten Barton’s exhaustion overnight, and no matter what he thought of the relationship between master and valet, Phil had no desire to see another human suffer because of lack of proper care and nutrition. 

That there was some deeper cause, he had no doubt, but only time would tell if Barton was willing to share that with him, and in the meantime he could restore him to health and make his life easier in the hope it would make his other burdens simpler to bear. 

He heard Barton moving around his bedroom shortly after eleven, but there was no bell to summon Phil, so he contented himself by starting to prepare coffee for the breakfast tray. He thought that Barton might prefer that to the traditional tea, and although he hesitated before doing so, he added a restorative beverage to the breakfast. 

The breakfast preparations were only just complete and the table just laid when Barton emerged. He was already dressed, though Phil had to do his best to hide his reaction to the ensemble that Barton had chosen, but his hair was still sleep-tousled and Phil could see the lines etched around his eyes more clearly in the cold light of morning. 

“Coffee,” he said, reaching out, and Phil found himself smiling indulgently as he filled a cup. 

In fact, it took ‘til the end of the second cup for Barton to notice the rest of the breakfast, and although he looked at it suspiciously to begin with, he did it full justice. Phil left him to it, guessing that Barton would do best without an audience, and was just preparing a second pot of coffee when there was a knock at the front door. 

“Allow me,” he said, placing the coffee in front of Barton on his way to the door. He took Barton’s grunt as assent and opened the door with a flourish. 

Waiting outside was a distracted-looking man – short and sparsely built. He was scribbling on some sort of pad in his hand, and it was only when Phil cleared his throat that he looked up. 

“You’re not Barton,” he said, looking confused. 

“Indeed not, sir,” Phil replied, smoothly. The man, he noticed, had protective goggles on his head. “I shall see if Mr. Barton is at home. Whom shall I say is calling?” 

“Stark,” the man replied. “And of course he’s home. He’s always at home at this time, and I need his advice.”

“Of course, sir,” Phil said. “And if you will wait a moment I shall–”

“Tony!” Barton appeared at Phil’s shoulder. “What are you doing here? I thought you were off to the country? Well?” He frowned at Phil. “You can’t leave Lord Anthony Stark waiting on the doorstep, Coulson.”

Phil sighed and stepped back. “Please do come in,” he said to Stark. “May I take your goggles, sir?”

“Hummm?” Stark gazed at him blankly. “Goggles?”

“On your head,” Phil said, gesturing. “I assume you would be more comfortable if they were removed?”

“Oh.” Stark pulled them free and stared at them as if he hadn’t seen them before. “By all means.”

Barton laughed. “You escaped without Jarvis checking you over?”

“Something like that.” Stark inclined his head. “There may have been a small fire in my workshop that was occupying his attention when I left.”

“Thus, the reason for your visit?”

Phil shut the door to the apartment as Barton strolled over to the drinks cabinet and started pouring spirits into the cocktail shaker. 

“By no means!” Stark looked almost offended. “I had intended to come anyway. I wanted to invite you to a small event I am holding in the country.”

Barton perked up. “Who’ll be there?” 

Stark took the proffered drink with a shrug. “The usual crowd. Rogers and his little band of reprobates, Banner, Miss Romanov, some foreign sorts that Obie has insisted I entertain – the Odinsons I think they call themselves…” He sipped the drink and nodded approvingly. “And I was hoping to introduce you to someone.”

Even Phil, busy clearing away the destruction Barton had left on the sideboard in his wake and with less than a quarter-hour’s knowledge of Stark, felt the last statement portended no good. 

Barton seemed to agree, and he sighed. “Who is she, Stark?”

“She?” Stark gestured in horror, sending his drink sloshing dangerously in the glass. “I never said anything about a ‘she’.”

Phil stepped behind Stark, bowing his head as he took the glass and placed it safely on a coaster. 

“And yet it so often is,” Barton said, raising an eyebrow in approving acknowledgement of Phil’s rescue of his furniture. “So, you may as well tell me now.”

“She’s called Virginia,” Stark said, and Phil saw Barton roll his eyes. “Virginia Potts, but I call her Pepper, and, Barton, she is _wonderful_.”

“Yes,” Barton said, nodding. “They always are, aren’t they?”

Stark scowled at him. “Pepper is nothing like the others. There’s no one like her.” He sighed happily. “When I’m with her, I feel happier, better… Like I can be anything in world, build anything, do anything…”

He trailed off, the sharp lines of his features softening at his recollections, and Barton shook his head, though Phil observed he was smiling. 

“So, marry her,” he said. “Sounds simple enough to me.”

“That’s the problem,” Stark said. “Obie will never approve of her.”

“Why not?” Barton asked. “He’s been trying to marry you off for as long as I’ve known you – though I’m not sure he’s right when he thinks that it’ll keep you out of trouble.” 

“Yes,” Stark’s face creased into a bitter frown. “But you know what my guardian considers _proper_.”

He spat the last word with such venom that Phil started to understand what the problem might be. 

“I understand that the lady is not of the aristocracy,” he said, refreshing first Stark’s drink and then Barton’s. 

“No,” Stark said, seemingly noticing Phil’s presence for the first time since his arrival. “No. She’s one of my staff. Obie employed her to act as my engagement secretary. One of his plans to make me a respectable gentleman.” 

“He doesn’t give up on that, does he?” Barton shook his head sadly. “Well, you are in a pickle, Stark. I don’t think there’s anything you can do that would make Obie approve of an employee.”

Phil thought that was an unnecessarily bleak outlook – there were very few problems that couldn’t be resolved if one took the time to look for a solution – but the drinks were finished and both men had risen so Phil fetched a jacket for Barton and helped him step into it. 

“We’re going for a tootle around the metrop,” Barton said. “And probably a show and the Club after that.”

“Very good, sir,” Phil said, stepping back and casting a critical eye over Barton’s attire. 

“What I’m saying, Coulson, is that it might well be a late night.” Barton stepped closer, dropping his voice so that it didn’t reach to where Stark was inspecting his goggles. “There will be no need for you to wait up.”

For a long second he held eye contact with Phil, and it surprised Phil when he was the first to look away. 

“I understand,” he said. “I will see you in the morning, sir.”

“Thank you.” Barton’s face did something complicated before resolving into the open expression that was starting to become familiar. “I would have hated it if you had left.”

“I’ve complied with stranger requests,” Phil said. “But, sir…” He reached out towards Barton before realising the inappropriateness of the gesture and changing the movement so he brushed a non-existent bit of lint from Barton’s shoulder. “If you should need me when you return, I trust you will call for me?”

Barton’s looked down at Phil’s hand, and his mouth twisted. “I won’t,” he said, and Phil dropped his hand back to his side. 

“But if you did…”

Barton sighed and shrugged. “Sure, I can meet you halfway. If I need you, I’ll call. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Phil said, his tone carefully level, and Barton laughed. 

“See? I said we’d work well together.” He grinned at Phil, his face as open and impish as a schoolboy’s. 

“Are you nearly done?” Stark asked, his voice a bored drawl that was at odds with the assessing look in his eyes. “Only some of us have some serious drinking to do, and we’re burning daylight here.”

“Coming,” Barton said, but he hesitated for a second as Stark opened the door, his smile soft and genuine. “I mean it,” he said. “Welcome to the household.”

The door shut behind him before Phil had a chance to respond. He wasn’t sure what he would have said in any case.

He sighed, looking around the apartment. There was still so much to do – he had barely started looking at Barton’s execrable fashion choices. 

Before he began, though, he had a telegram to send. He needed to let Hill at the Agency know that, despite the mistake in identity, he was going to take the post. Barton might not be the model of a perfect employer, but Phil believed he was right about one thing – they would work well together.


	2. Wedding Bells for Barton

“I say, Coulson…”

Barton’s voice was little better than a croak, and Phil had to swallow down the smile it provoked before turning from where he was arranging a breakfast tray. 

“Yes, sir?” 

He turned to find Barton, still rumpled from sleep and an interesting shade of pale green, in the doorway to the kitchen. 

“Don’t suppose you would make me one of those whatyoum’callums, would you?”

“The Agent?” Phil permitted himself a small smile. “I’m sure I can rustle you one up.”

“You’re a Godsend.” Barton stumbled over to the table and threw himself into a kitchen chair, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back, exposing the long line of his throat. 

Phil dragged his eyes away and mixed the drink, placing the glass just beyond the loose curl of Barton’s fingers. 

It was only when he stepped back that he saw Barton’s eyes were open and he was watching Phil with a hawk-like intensity that belied his hung-over state. 

“Your drink, sir,” he said, unsure how Barton made him feel perpetually caught out. 

Barton raised the glass in a toast, his lip curling sardonically, but his expression cleared as he started to drink. 

“Aw, yes,” he said, and his smile now seemed genuine. “This hits the spot. Don’t suppose you’d tell me what’s in it, would you?”

“Trade secret,” Phil said, and though he didn’t smile, he was aware that his voice was less forbidding than it should be. “My Club would drum me out if I were to tell anyone.”

“Surely I’m not just anyone?” Barton replied, a hint of mischief in his eyes, and Phil swallowed. 

“Of course not,” Phil said. “Yet I doubt the Club would fully appreciate your many unique virtues, sir.”

Barton laughed. “So, I’m an acquired taste, eh? Well,” he stood up, “you’re not the first to say it, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

The words shocked a laugh out of Phil, and Barton’s face lit up as he headed off to prepare for the day. 

It seemed, though, that, despite Phil’s best endeavours, Barton was resistant to good taste. 

Instead of the well-fitted grey suit and tasteful eau-de-nil tie that Phil had carefully chosen and laid out, Barton had dressed himself in a monstrous purple get up. It even had a check pattern in pale lilac, and…

“Are those bows and arrows on your tie, sir?” he asked, faintly. 

“Indeed they are.” Barton radiated pride. “And aren’t they spiffing, Coulson? The chaps at the Club are going to be beside themselves with envy when they see it.”

Phil had to concede this might be true, but then, from everything he had heard about the Drones, this was not necessarily saying that much. 

“I’m glad you can confirm the pattern, sir,” he said, at his most aloof. “I had worried for a moment that I might be suffering from hallucinations.”

“Nonsense!” Barton beamed at him. “I’ll be the talk of the town in this.”

“Precisely my fear,” Phil said, as he heard a knock at the door and bustled off to answer it. Barton’s face had started to turn mulish, and he had already realised that there was little to be achieved by addressing issues head on. 

He could hear Barton grumbling behind him as he opened the door to a young lady wearing a stylish blue coat and hat that framed a lovely and determined face. 

“I’m here to see Clint,” she said, staring at Phil as if he were an interesting exhibit in the museum. 

“And whom shall I say is calling?” Phil asked, bowing slightly. 

“Lady Barbara Morse,” she replied. “I’m sure he’s expecting me.”

Phil was sure of no such thing, but went to announce Barton’s guest. He hadn’t gone more than a couple of steps, though, before Barton himself bounced up.

“Bobbi!” he said, all brightness and smiles. “How wonderful to see you!”

She allowed him to kiss her on the cheek before stepping back and casting a critical look at his attire. 

Barton, however, didn’t seem to notice and turned to Phil, his arm circling Bobbi’s waist. 

“Allow me to introduce Bobbi to you, Coulson.” He smiled down at her. “She’s one of my oldest chums. Knew me when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. I haven’t seen her for ages, and then I bumped into her at a dance last night.” He turned to Bobbi. “I’ve got to say it’s good to see you again, old girl. You’re looking splendid.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she said, running her hand over the terrible suit jacket. “But I was very glad to run into you again, Clint. It was about time you got over all that silliness. Now,” she took a step away from Barton and pulled off her gloves, looking around the room with a vague air of disapproval. “You will be paying a call on Daddy, won’t you? Only he does insist on the formalities being observed.” 

“Formalities?” Barton looked baffled. 

“Yes.” She frowned at him, before softening her expression. “Asking for my hand, silly. Mummy will be thrilled, of course. She always had a soft spot for you, but Daddy’s the one we’ll need to work on.” 

“But…” 

She put a finger on his lips. “Now, now, darling. I know you can deal with this. Daddy’s bark is much worse than his bite, you know.” She turned to Phil and raised an eyebrow imperiously. “Aren’t you going to wish your master happy, Coulson?”

“Indeed I am, ma’am,” Phil managed. “I wish him exceptional happiness.” 

“Excellent.” She beamed at Barton. “In that case I’ll leave you to it. Just make sure you visit Daddy before he leaves for the countryside at the weekend, won’t you?”

Barton made an incoherent noise that she obviously took as assent as she kissed his cheek and turned sharply on her heel. Phil took one look at Barton’s face before closing the door firmly behind her. 

“Coulson, what just happened?” Barton looked shell-shocked, and Phil’s heart went out to him.

“I think you may have gotten engaged, sir.”

“Not again.” Barton’s face was ashen. “I mean, why does this keep happening to me? Marriage is the last thing I…”

There was a sharp rap at the door and Barton visibly recoiled. 

“It’ll be her again, Coulson. Tell her I’m out. Or ill. Or moved back to America.”

“Nonsense, sir.” Coulson used his best calming tone – the one he usually reserved for skittish horses. “There’s nothing here we can’t deal with.” Barton didn’t look noticeably reassured, and Phil sighed. “Why don’t you withdraw to your room while I handle this?”

“You’re a rock,” Barton said, relief washing over his features. “I’m sure you can handle this, Coulson.” 

He rushed off just as there was a second, even sharper, knock on the door. Phil took a second to square his shoulders against the forthcoming trial before he pulled the door open.

“Lady Morse,” he started before he realised his mistake. This was not Bobbi Morse waiting for him. Instead it was the imposing figure of the Dowager Duchess Fury – a legendary character in Phil’s Club, who inspired fear and adoration in equal measure. 

She wasn’t a tall woman, but from her perfectly-coiffed raven hair to the train of her black silk skirt she was the epitome of self-assurance. No one looking at her would mistake the Victorian style of dress that she favoured as signifying that she had fallen on hard times. Instead she gave the overwhelming impression that she was judging the modern world – and finding it sadly lacking. 

“Madam,” he stammered. “I am so sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“Someone else?” she drew herself up to her full height and glared at him, the jewelled eye-patch doing nothing to mitigate the impact of the stare. “And who precisely would I be apart from myself?”

She took advantage of Phil’s confusion to brush past him into the apartment. 

“Well?” she demanded. “Where exactly is my wastrel nephew? I must tell you, I bumped into some flibbertigibbet in the elevator on the way here who seemed to think she and Barton were engaged.” Lady Fury sniffed dismissively. “She will need to put _that_ thought out of her mind. She won’t do at all for Clint.”

Phil agreed with her, but maintained what he hoped was a dignified silence. Lady Fury gave him a hard look, then nodded. 

“I suppose the idiot boy is skulking in his room,” she said, removing her gloves with a snap and handing them to Phil. “You’ll get him out for me, naturally.” She paused and smiled at Phil – a smile that he felt boded no good for anyone. “Of course, there’s no rush. He’ll be working himself up into quite the state by now.” She looked pleased at the thought, and sat down, gesturing at Phil, imperiously. “You can get me a small drink, man.”

“Of course.” Phil tried to recall the contents of the drinks cabinet. “Would madam like a sherry?”

She raised an eyebrow at him eloquently. “Does madam _really_ look like she would like a sherry? Hmmmm?”

Phil had to admit she really didn’t – in fact, she looked like she should have a cigar clamped between her teeth. Also, despite the perfectly enunciated words, Phil had the distinct sensation that he had just been subjected to a barrage of the profoundest profanity the English language had to offer. 

“I’ll pour you a whisky,” he said, making a mental note to interpret the request for a _small drink_ liberally.

“Excellent,” Lady Fury said. “And use the good bottle at the back of the cabinet – I know what swill he normally passes off on those idiot friends of his.”

He poured the drink for her and retreated as fast as decorum permitted. 

Barton was in his room, a hang-dog expression on his face and the window open in a way that suggested that he had been plotting an escape attempt. 

“What does she want?” he asked. “Is she back to drag me off to meet her father already?”

“It is not Lady Barbara,” Phil said, pitching his voice to be as reassuring as possible. “It is your Aunt.”

“Good God, not Aunt Fury?” Barton looked horror-stricken. “That’s all we need right now.”

“Nonetheless,” Phil said, “she is here, and I would hazard a guess that it would be better if you didn’t keep her waiting?”

“Of course not. Aunts are like tides, Coulson: they wait for no man.” Barton was on his feet in a second and staring at his face in the mirror. “I should have worn the suit you put out for me. She’s not going to like this one at all.”

“It is probable,” Coulson said. “And I hesitate to mention it, but she encountered Lady Barbara on her way in, and has also expressed her disapproval at your engagement.” 

Barton sighed. “Of course she wouldn’t approve, though I’ve got to tell you, Coulson, I agree with her on that.” 

“There are other options.” Phil fixed him with a glare. “Though perhaps not if you keep her waiting.”

Barton seemed to agree, because he followed Phil out and reluctantly presented himself to his Aunt Fury. 

Coulson did his very best not to overhear what took place, but Lady Fury had a gift of making herself heard when she so desired it, so Phil was an unwilling witness to the threats to Barton’s continued access to his trust fund and way of life. 

“But I never offered for her!” Barton was saying. “I don’t even know how she decided we _were_ engaged.”

Lady Fury snorted. “You must have done _something_ , idiot boy. Young gals don’t just wander round assuming men are going to marry them. No, you mark my words, nephew. You did something to get yourself in this scrape, and you will damn well get yourself out of it, or you will force me to cut you off without a penny to your name.” She jabbed at him with her finger. “Let’s see how long this cream-pot love affair lasts when you’re in _employment_ , shall we?” 

“Oh, I say!” Barton sounded horrified. “Let’s not do anything hasty.” 

Phil cleared his throat and then forced himself to stand his ground as Lady Fury fixed him with a gimlet eye. Phil had never been sure before now what a gimlet eye was – and maybe he still wasn’t. All he knew was that Lady Fury was definitely fixing him with one now. 

“I believe I can extricate Mr. Barton from this affair,” he said, “should he desire me to do so.” 

Lady Fury glared at him. “Who are you?” she demanded. “I don’t remember seeing you here before.”

“He’s Coulson,” Barton said, managing by dint of rising to fetch a drink to interpose himself between Phil and his Aunt. “He’s my new Man. Only started this week, which is why you’ve not seen him before.”

Lady Fury sniffed. “Looks like he has a modicum of sense,” she said. “Not that _that_ would be a challenge when he’s stood next to you, boy.” 

“Oh, he has a head full of brains,” Barton said. “Can’t keep up with him most of the time, you know.”

Phil knew that Barton was saying this to assuage his Aunt’s ill temper, but it was still gratifying to hear. 

Lady Fury seemed pacified, however, and rose from her seat. 

“See that you listen to your Man,” she said, “for I will not tolerate this betrothal and you will not like the lengths that _I_ would go to to end it.” She stalked to the door of the apartment, and paused. “Granddaughter,” she said. “We go now. Take your leave of your cousin.”

Phil raised an eyebrow, considering for a second whether the lady had taken leave of her senses, before a whisper of silk from behind him alerted him to the presence of a slender, pale-skinned lady with the coldest smile Phil had ever seen. 

“Thank you for your hospitality, Cousin Clint,” she said, her words strangely accented. “I do hope I shall be seeing you at Lord Stark’s country house next week.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Barton said, completely unperturbed by her sudden appearance. “I was relying on you being there to stop me expiring of boredom.”

She laughed. “A pretty lie,” she said, “but I appreciate it.”

Baton waited until the door closed behind her before grinning apologetically at Phil. 

“My cousin,” he said, “has dreams of becoming an international lady of mystery. One becomes used to her appearing when one would least expect her to. It becomes less alarming after a while.”

“Does it?” Phil asked. His heart had yet to return to its normal pace.

“Well, no,” Barton said. “But I hope it shall do one day.” 

Phil fixed him a drink, which he took gratefully. 

“So, what you said earlier, about being able to get me out of this mess with Bobbi, did you mean that? Or was it just to get the old lady off my case?” Barton took a sip of the drink. “Not that I’m not grateful even if that is the posish – there’s usually no stopping her when she gets on the warpath.” 

“I can only imagine, sir,” Phil said, making no effort this time to hide his smile, “but I was telling the truth to your Aunt.”

Barton heaved a sigh of relief. “You have no idea how grateful I am to hear that,” he said. “But how do you intend to do it? I must tell you that Bobbi isn’t one to let an idea go once she’s set her mind to it.”

“It is probably best if I don’t tell you the full details,” Phil said. “All I will need you to do is to make yourself absent when she returns shortly.”

“Returns?” Barton said, looking suddenly worried. “Why would she return?”

“Well,” Phil said. “You yourself put the idea in my mind earlier, when you mistook your Aunt’s arrival for her return, but I also noticed that she has left her gloves here.” He gestured to where they were lying on the sideboard. “No doubt she hopes you’ll accompany her to her father when she returns to collect them.”

“Best if I’m not here then,” Barton said. “Do you think I have time to toddle down to the Club or…”

A knock at the door cut him off. 

“No, sir,” Phil replied. “In fact it is probably best if you retire to your room again.”

“Consider it done,” Barton said, and fled surprisingly silently as Phil went to the door. 

“Lady Barbara,” he said as he opened the door, and had the satisfaction of seeing her surprise. “I noticed you forgot your gloves on your earlier visit, and presumed you would return for them.”

“Yes,” Bobbi said, “though I hoped to see Clint again as well.”

“Unfortunately Mr. Barton has left for his Club,” Phil said, perjuring himself without a second thought. “He took his leave almost as soon as his Aunt had left.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bobbi said, frowning. “That woman is altogether too controlling.” She glared at Phil. “But if she thinks she’ll be allowed to dominate Clint in this awful way when we’re married then she will find herself sadly mistaken.”

“Indeed, madam,” Phil said. “And I must say, I am very pleased indeed to hear about your engagement to Mr. Barton.”

“Oh?” Bobbi raised an eyebrow. “I got the impression earlier that you weren’t.”

“Not at all,” Phil said, handing her her gloves. “I was merely surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised?” She looked at him suspiciously. “Why should our engagement surprise you?”

“Only that I had heard you were due to become engaged to Lord Kevin Plunder, and my natural partiality for my master aside, I would never see him as a match for Lord Plunder.”

“No…” She looked at Phil, an assessing expression on her face. “And it is true that I did spend a great deal of time with Lord Plunder recently…”

“I heard that you had saved the gentleman’s life,” Phil said, gratefully recalling the fragment of gossip from the Ganymede. “And that he had travelled to London in order to woo you.”

The latter was sheer conjecture, but Phil didn’t think that Lady Morse would let something as insignificant as that stand in her way. Besides, Lord Plunder had extensive lands, a taste for travel, and a reputation that left Barton in the shade. 

“He did?” Bobbi frowned. “I was not aware, or…”

“Or you would not have let yourself get so caught up in reminiscing that you allowed Mr. Barton draw a completely inaccurate conclusion from your natural, sisterly affection?” Phil prompted. 

“Yes.” Bobbi looked at him with dawning hope. “I mean, I feel awful about it…”

“And he is so very attached to you,” Phil said. “But if one loves truly, so I have heard, one will make any sacrifice if it adds to the happiness of the object of one’s desire.”

“He will be heartbroken,” she said, looking torn. 

“But so will Lord Plunder,” Phil said. 

“That is true.” She set her jaw. “What a mess. I don’t know what I should do. I am fond of Clint, of course! And I would hate to see the pain in his eyes when I tell him, but Lord Plunder has proved himself to be a true friend to me…”

“If you will allow me, madam, I shall break the news to Mr. Barton on your behalf.” 

“Oh, would you?” Her face lit up. “Really? And you will keep him safe?”

“I will endeavour to make sure he refrains from any excessive action,” Phil assured her. “Though I believe that knowledge of your happy situation will reconcile him to his disappointment.” 

“Thank you.” She clasped his hand for a second. “It is such a comfort to me that he will have you by his side to console him.”

Phil maintained his countenance as best he could and bowed as he closed the door. 

For a second the apartment was silent, then Phil head the sound of applause from behind him. For one horrible second Phil thought that Cousin Natasha had returned, but then he realised it was just Barton. 

“Bravo,” Barton said. “I have rarely seen anyone mislead a mark so thoroughly as you just did.”

“I do my best,” Phil said. “Though Lady Barbara took very little persuasion.”

“I would never have been able to do that,” Barton said. “I try my best, but the words never come out like I plan them, and I always end up in more trouble than I was in in the first place.”

Phil nodded. “I do think it would be best if you were to avoid Lady Barbara for the next few weeks, though. She might mistake your carefree countenance for an unfeeling heart.”

“Good thought,” Barton said, looking serious. “And there’s no accounting for what she might do if she thought that. Still, there’s always Tony’s invitation.” He grinned at Phil. “You’d like a few days in the country, wouldn’t you Coulson? Not much trouble I can get into there, anyway!”


	3. Coulson in the country

It turned out that Barton’s idea of suitable transport was not one that Phil agreed with.

This surprised Phil not at all. 

Fortunately, the contraption that Barton chose to call a car did not last more than twenty miles outside London. Even more fortunately, Phil had a car of his own – never let it be said that Phil didn’t have a knack of being helpful, nor that his masters were ever ungenerous – and by the time they arrived at Stark’s Oxfordshire mansion even Barton had recovered his good spirits. 

“Nice wheels,” Stark said as they drew up. “Where did you get them, Barton?”

“Oh, she’s Coulson’s,” Barton said, grinning like a schoolboy. “And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t get any smudges on the paintwork. He gets tetchy about that.”

Phil, retrieving the luggage from Lola’s boot, including the bow and arrows that Barton had insisted on bringing, merely raised an eyebrow at Barton and did his best to maintain his countenance as Barton pretended the look had physically wounded him. 

“Watch out for him, Tony,” Barton said, grabbing his friend as he pretended to stumble. “He’s far too clever for his own good, and I wouldn’t want to get on his wrong side.” 

“Really?” Stark looked sceptical. “He can’t be that smart if he decided to work for you, Barton.”

“Oh, touché!” Barton put his hand to his chest in feigned offence. “Why is everyone determined to insult me today?”

“Because it’s a day ending in “y”,” Stark replied, “and you deserve it.”

“Maybe.” Barton nodded. “But Coulson is smart, you know. Got me out of an accidental betrothal without even breaking a sweat.”

“Another one?” Stark shook his head. “One day you’ll learn to be careful of what you say to these girls.”

“But I am!” He frowned at the expressive look Stark was shooting at Phil. “And Coulson should side with me.”

“Only if you’re right,” Stark said. “I would never expect Jarvis to side with me if I wasn’t right.”

“Really?” Barton looked incredulous. “Because you insist that he always sides with you.”

“Well, I am always right,” Stark said, with no pretence at modesty whatsoever. “Mind you, I wish I had listened to Jarvis about Pepper.”

“Pepper? Oh, yes,” Barton grinned. “The lucky latest recipient of your affections.”

“My one true love, you mean,” Stark snapped. 

“Calm down!” Barton sniggered at Stark’s affronted expression. “I’m sure she is your one true love if you say so, but what should you have listened to Jarvis about?” 

“He said not to tell Obie,” Stark said, flinging himself down on the stairs to his stately home with just a little too much dramatic flair. “But I really thought I would be able to talk him around.”

“And you weren’t?” Barton looked sympathetic as Stark shook his head. “So, what did he do?”

“Oh, the usual.” Stark gestured airily. “Told me I was a perpetual disappointment, threatened to get my trustees to curtail my access to my funds and properties, introduced Pepper to the nearest eligible gentleman who might offer for her…”

Barton sucked the air in over his teeth. “And you hadn’t told her how you felt?”

“No.” Stark stared into the middle distance. “And now I can’t because she believes that she is in love with that lowlife scum, Aldrich Killian.”

“Ah.” Barton considered the matter, then grinned. “I wouldn’t worry though.”

“Why not?” Stark scowled. “Because you think my natural charm and talent will win her over? Because if that’s the case then I hate to disillusion you, but…”

“No!” Barton’s face creased in a smirk. “Not that you don’t have an abundance of charm and talent, of course, but in this case I was thinking Coulson could fix it all up for you.”

“Coulson?” Stark looked doubtful. “I know he sorted you out, but my affairs tend to be much more complex than yours.”

“Nevertheless,” Clint grinned over at Phil. “I’m sure he’s up for it, aren’t you Coulson?”

“I hope I will always do my best to fulfil any request you make of me, sir,” Phil said, “but I would be foolish to make any promises before I have a fuller picture of Lord Stark’s affairs.”

“See?” Barton said, seemingly delighted. “Told you he was chock-full of brains, didn’t I?”

Stark nodded warily. “We’ll see,” he said, before scrubbing his hands through his hair. “But come on. I can’t keep you all to myself out here. Let’s get you in to meet everyone.”

Phil thought he would be able to slip away. He wanted to unpack the luggage and get Barton’s room straightened out. He even had hopes that given Barton’s distraction, he might even wear a suit of Phil’s choosing for dinner. 

Barton, however, seemed to have other ideas.

He was insistent that he introduce Phil to his friends, so Phil allowed one of Stark’s men to take the cases and trailed several paces behind Barton as he was led into the house. 

He was fortunate in that many of the names of the people he met were familiar from the Ganymede Club. Dr. Bruce Banner, well known for his research on newts and other green creatures, was talking to the alarming Miss Romanov – or Cousin Natasha as she was otherwise known. 

There was Captain Steven Rogers (now retired), standing alongside Lieutenant James Buchanan Barnes and Major Sam Wilson, all from the American army originally, but now stationed in England. Phil had heard the most scandalous gossip about the three of them, though he discounted the majority of it as ill-informed bile spewed by people who should know better. The Ganymede looked harshly on anyone who spread such dangerous tales, and he had never heard any confirmation of the rumours. Nonetheless, they were an attractive trio, despite the war wound that left Lieutenant Barnes holding his arm awkwardly, and Phil only realised that he had been staring perhaps a touch too intently when Barton recalled him by placing a gentle hand on his arm. 

“And these are the Odinsons,” Stark was saying. “Lord Odin Odinson and his sons, Thor and Loki.”

Lord Odinson barely raised an eyebrow at the introduction, sparing only a grunt of acknowledgement before returning to his newspaper. His son Loki sat next to him, a snotty scrub of a schoolboy who Phil could tell was trouble incarnate, despite the innocent intensity with which he was studying a Latin tome. Thor, however, was an altogether more attractive character who shook hands firmly with both Barton and Phil, professing himself delighted to meet them. 

“If that will be all, sir,” Phil said in an undertone once the introductions are complete, “then I really should get on.”

“Oh, of course,” Barton said, turning to face him. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, old chap. I just wanted you to meet everyone, you know.”

“I wasn’t uncomfortable at all,” Phil said, somewhat untruthfully. He wasn’t used to being treated as if he was a human by the men he’d served in the past, and the way Barton insisted on this curious semblance of equality was at once exhilarating and deeply confusing. “However, I should ensure that your clothes are prepared for dinner, so if you have no further use for me…”

Barton shook his head. “No, please. Occupy yourself as you see fit. I intend to take a walk in the grounds before I dress for dinner.” 

Not even Barton could get himself in trouble during such an innocuous activity, Phil felt, so he withdrew to their rooms with no sense of foreboding at all – a glorious state in which he was allowed to luxuriate for a full ninety minutes. 

It took that long for Barton to return, pale-faced and wide-eyed, and to shut the bedroom door firmly behind him and to lean on it. 

“Coulson,” he said. “I hate to importune you, but would you mind packing at once?”

“You wish to return home?” Phil asked, slightly alarmed.

Barton nodded. “Home, or… we could travel?” he said brightly. “I believe Australia is nice at this time of year? Or Peru? There’s a lot to be said for those seldom-visited South American countries you know.”

Phil nodded. “The cuisine is worth experiencing, I believe,” he said, “and of course there is the scenery. Or,” he fixed Barton with a stare, “you could tell me what’s going on?” 

Barton shook his head mutely, and Phil sighed. He fetched a small case from under the bed and used his emergency reserves to mix a stiff whiskey and soda. 

“Come away from the door,” he said, “and drink this.”

“Can’t,” Barton said. “If I move away from the door, they’ll get in.”

Phil leant around him and locked the door, with the key that had been in the keyhole, and raised an eyebrow at Barton. 

“Better?” he said. “Because I could always use the chest of drawers to block it, if that would help.”

“No,” Barton replied, stepping away from the door cautiously, as if it might still burst open at any minute. “No, that should be sufficient.” He took the glass and drained it gratefully. “I mean, guests can’t knock doors down, can they? And,” he shot a dark look around the room, “a door isn’t enough to keep Natasha out if she wants to get in.”

“It’s to do with your Cousin, then?” Phil frowned sympathetically. “What happened?”

“Oh, she was in a miff with Dr. Banner – he’s been spending too much time on his science and not enough on her – and I was doing the proper cousinly thing, you know, smiling and nodding, and giving her a sympathetic ear, and…” He stared beseechingly at Phil and held out his glass, which Phil obligingly refilled. “And before I knew it, she’d made some offhand comment about how she was better off without Bruce, and I…” He blinked. “I said… something? And…”

“You’re engaged?” 

Barton nodded. “Yes,” he said, his voice cracking, “engaged, but that’s not the worst of it by half. There’s a chance you would be able to fix _that_.”

“Oh?” Phil said, a sense of deep disquiet overtaking him. “And what is the worst of it?” 

“Loki,” Barton said. “Loki Odinson.”

“What happened?” Phil asked. “I mean, it can’t be that bad, can it? At least you’re not engaged to him!” He had meant the words as a light-hearted jest, to lift Barton’s spirits, but the eerie pallor of his face, and the way he assiduously avoided eye contact, gave Phil all the answer he needed. “Oh,” he said. “How did that happen?”

“I’d prefer not to say,” Barton said, an affronted look on his face. “I mean, it was a mistake. It’s not as if I make a habit of proposing to schoolboys.”

“I should hope not,” Phil said. “The scandal would get a little much.”

It brought a smile to Barton’s face and Phil was hopeful he would explain how he had come to be in this predicament, but they were interrupted by a loud banging on the door. Barton started, and as Phil went to answer the door, which was bowing alarmingly on its hinges, he knew that Barton would never disclose the truth now. 

He wasn’t sure who he expected to see, but he certainly wasn’t expecting for Dr. Banner to push him bodily out of the way. 

“Barton.” Banner’s voice was edged with danger. “What the hell do you mean by proposing to my fiancée?” 

“I didn’t!” Barton held his hands out in an expression of innocence. “I mean… I’m not sure _what_ happened, but I’m fairly sure I didn’t propose to her.”

“So, I suppose she proposed to you?” Banner hissed. “Is that likely? A lady of her breeding chasing after a _man_ with no past and no prospects? You expect me to believe that?” 

He was jabbing Barton in the chest, and Phil, having picked himself up, was wondering how best to intervene, when Barton caught Banner by the wrists. 

“I understand you’re angry,” he said, his voice low and steady. “And I understand that you want to lash out. But you don’t get to attack me just because you are in a bad mood, and maybe you should be taking the time here to ask yourself why _your_ fiancée was quite so quick to look for another man to marry her.”

Banner’s face, already pale with rage, took on a greenish tinge. “How dare you,” he said. “How dare you say that to me?” He shook Barton’s hands free. “I’ll get even with you for this, Barton. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get even with you.”

He shoved Barton in the chest, causing him to stumble backwards onto the bed, before turning on his heel and stalking out. 

“Sir?” Phil said, unable to keep his concern from his words. “Are you injured?” 

Barton looked up, as if he’d forgotten Phil had been there. “Me? No. I’m fine.” He inhaled sharply. “I was expecting worse to be honest. Banner has quite the temper when he gets riled up.” He shook his head, as if dispelling a thought, and grinned at Phil. “Really, my biggest concern was that you’d get in the way and he would punch you.”

Phil was touched at the thought, but couldn’t help bridling slightly at the words. “I would like to think I could defend myself, sir,” he said, but Barton just laughed. 

“I’m sure you can,” he said, “but I once saw Banner wrestle a bull to the ground for one of his ‘experiments’ with Stark. I don’t think you could stand up to that.”

Phil would have begged to differ, but unfortunately in the drama of Banner’s departure he had neglected to close the door, and Lord Odinson had taken advantage to stalk into the room, a chastened young woman at his side. 

“What,” he said, pulling himself up to his full height, “have you done to my son?” 

“Nothing!” Barton stammered. “I mean, I didn’t _mean_ to do anything…”

“He says you are betrothed,” Lord Odinson said. “And I am not inclined to believe that he is a liar.”

“He misunderstood!” Barton protested. “I happened upon him while he was dressed as a girl and rehearsing lines from a play and…”

“You thought you would take advantage of a defenceless maiden?” Odinson’s voice was dangerous.

“No!” Barton said. “I would never… I mean…”

“Why was he dressed as a woman?” Phil asked, trying to distract him.

“How my son dresses is no concern of yours, peasant.” Lord Odinson was obviously not used to talking to servants, and Phil took a vicious delight in sneering at him. 

“I was rehearsing for a play,” Loki said, speaking for the first time. “Mr. Barton approached me and said that he was confused. He asked what I would do if a woman of surpassing beauty was in love and he couldn’t express true feelings. It was obvious he had fallen in love with me at first sight, so of course I said I would become his partner.” 

Barton stared at him, mouth open. “But, how could you even imagine that…”

“Quiet!” Odinson glared at Barton. “I do not condone this marriage, but neither will I deny either of my sons anything that would make them happy.” 

“What do you mean?” Barton’s face was pale.

“That I insist on you honouring your promise. If Loki still wants you, then you must marry him.”

He spun around and left the room, Loki starting to follow in his footsteps. 

“Wait,” Barton said. “Loki… surely you don’t want to be engaged to me? Especially in circumstances such as these?”

Loki turned and looked at him, like Banner examining a slide under a microscope. “Why not?” he said. “You have heart, and nothing could be worse than remaining with my father until he gives me an allowance to leave.” He reached out and touched Barton’s chest. “Besides, I believe there will be compensations.” 

He stood on tiptoe and kissed Barton in the cheek. “Until later, lover,” he said in a low voice and slipped out of the room. 

Phil barely waited until Loki had left before shutting the door firmly behind him. 

“I can see you’ve had quite a productive afternoon,” he said. “Is there anything else I need to know about?” 

“What?” Barton looked at him, bemused. “I mean… I don’t know. I don’t even know what just happened.”

“At a guess, you’re engaged to Miss Romanov and to the young Loki, and neither engagement is….”

“Coulson.” Barton stood up and took Phil by the shoulders. “If you continue like this, I shan’t be responsible for my actions.” Phil allowed himself the smallest smile, and Barton shook his head. “As much as I am thrilled to be entertaining you, do you think you could concentrate on how we can fix this?”

“You are a harsh task master,” Phil said, “but I shall endeavour to find…”

Barton sighed as there was another knock at the door.

“I know there’s no rest for the wicked,” he said, stepping away from Phil, “but this is ridiculous.”

“Perhaps next time it will serve to remind you to be more careful when you propose.”

“I am careful!” Barton shook his head vehemently. “It’s hardly my fault if people aren’t as careful when they listen to what I’m saying…”

The knock at the door was louder this time, and Phil raised an eyebrow at Barton as he turned to answer it. 

“Oh, lord. Don’t say you’re here to shout at me as well.” Barton flung himself back on the bed with the words, covering his eyes with his arm. “I can’t cope with you as well.” 

“Charming.” Lieutenant Barnes cut a rather more Byron-esque figure than was currently fashionable, but even Phil was forced to admit it suited him. “I see you’ve not lost any of your famous wit, Barton.”

“If you’d had the day I’ve had,” Barton replied, with some bitterness, “you’d be a bit slower to criticise a chap, Bucky.”

“Dry up,” Bucky said. “You’re always in a scrape of some sort. I don’t see why you have to make such a production of it every time.”

“Such a production?” Barton sat up and glared at Bucky. “And I suppose you’re all sweetness and light at the moment then, eh?”

Bucky sneered. “No, if you must know,” he said. “Natasha is in a foul mood, and when she’s out of temper, she makes sure everyone suffers.”

“Don’t I know it,” Barton said, his injustices recalled forcibly to mind. 

“Yes, well.” Bucky strolled to the window and peered out at the grounds. He rubbed his left shoulder absently, as if it pained him, and Phil realised with a shock that his left arm was a prosthetic replacement. “Steve caught me doing my best to talk her out of her snit, and now he’s convinced that I’m in love with her.” 

“So?” Barton stared at him in incomprehension. “Natasha’s a beautiful girl. Why would Steve mind if you _were_ in love?”

“So?” Bucky curled his lip at the word. “Have can you ask _so_? If Steve thinks I’m in love with Natasha, he won’t have any time for me, will he? And he’s all over that new chap already.” Bucky’s face was petulant, and Phil realised that he was feeling left out.

Barton nodded like this made some sort of sense to him “Well, all you have to do is tell him that Natasha has managed to get engaged to me,” he said. “That should solve the problem.”

“To you?” Bucky laughed. “Lord, Barton, she has some sense. She’d never do that.” 

“Charming,” Barton mimicked, radiating affronted dignity. “But the fact remains that she is engaged to me.” 

“Really?” Bucky looked pensive for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Steve will never swallow it.”

“Why not?” Barton seemed genuinely offended by now, and Phil could understand his feelings. 

“Because Thor has been holding forth in the snooker room for the last half hour about how you’ve disgraced his family by getting engaged to his brother.” 

“Oh, Lord.” Barton paled. “Does Natasha know?”

“Not when I came up.” Bucky shrugged. “She will do soon though. Not a quiet chap, that Thor.”

“There’s nothing for it.” Barton turned towards Phil. “We’ll have to leave the country.” 

“Not before you sort this out for me.” Bucky jabbed him in the chest. “You owe me one, Barton, and you’ll help me sort out things with Steve before he flits off with Wilson – or the Odinsons and Natasha will be the last things you have to worry about.” 

“I don’t see why you can’t just talk to him,” Barton said. “Surely that’s one of the benefits about being in love with another chap? Able to talk sense to each other and not get distracted by all that emotional baloney.” 

Bucky stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Do you honestly believe that?” he said incredulously. “Seriously, Barton. I despair of you. Maybe you’d better stick with Loki. From what I’ve heard he’s a little terror, but at least he’d keep you on a tight rein and away from the rest of decent society.” 

“Maybe he’s right,” Barton said as Bucky left. “Maybe there’s no hope for me and I should marry Loki. I mean, it seemed like he had a fairly sensible take on the whole thing?”

Phil shook his head. He might not be willing to say as much to Barton, but there was something _wrong_ about Loki. He made the skin on Phil’s back crawl, and Phil had learnt the hard way to listen to his instincts. 

“I think you can do better,” he said diplomatically. “You should, at least, have the freedom to make your own choice.” 

Barton snorted. “You haven’t known me very long, Coulson, but when you do, you’ll understand that no one ever gives me the freedom to make my own choices. I’m either being pushed into a predicament or running away from one.” He sat on the edge of the bed, looking morose. “And I probably deserve it too.”

“I hardly think that’s likely,” Phil said, starting to lay out his evening wear. “And even if it is true, you can only learn how to make wise choices if you practice the art, and take your time over them.”

“I’d not thought of it like that,” Barton said. “I guess I thought that I was doomed.”

“Just because you’ve made bad choices in the past, doesn’t mean you can’t make better ones in the future.” Phil straightened out the bow tie, and kept his eyes carefully on the clothes. 

Barton hummed thoughtfully, his sharp eyes focussing on the mid-distance, when the door slid open, almost noiselessly.

“Good,” Natasha said, shutting it behind her. “You’re not in the middle of dressing. That would have been tiresome.”

“I’m glad that my lateness works for you,” Barton said bitterly. “Now that we’re engaged and everything.”

“Oh, that.” Natasha picked up a tie pin and tested the point on her thumb. “I thought you might be upset about that.”

“Upset?” Barton looked incredulous. “Upset? No. Why would I be? I mean I’ve only been threatened with violence by your proper fiancé. That’s nothing at all to be upset about.”

“Bruce has been to see you?” Natasha looked up with interest. “Well, well.”

“Is that all you have to say?” he asked, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. 

“Of course not” Natasha replied. “Bruce has been paying far too much attention to his experiments lately, and I will not be neglected.”

“So you’re using me to make him jealous?”

“Of course. You don’t think I would actually marry you, do you?” She laughed lightly. “We wouldn’t suit, Clint. I thought you knew that by now.”

“But, but…” Barton gave it up as a bad job and shook his head mutely. 

“Which gives rise to my visit,” Natasha said with a smirk. “I’ve heard that you’re betrothed to the youngest Odinson boy. It won’t do, Clint. Bruce knows about you now, so I need him to believe we are engaged. He’ll never do that once he finds out about Loki.

“You could always use Barnes instead?” Barton said hopefully.

Natasha thought about it for a second. “I considered him,” she said. “But you seemed the less complicated choice. Barnes has far too many _feelings_. Anyway, it’s too late now.”

“Lucky Barnes,” Barton said, staring at her awestruck. “I wish I had _feelings_ if it meant I wasn’t likely to be wrestled to death by Banner.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Natasha said. “Bruce is the least of your worries if you don’t sort this mess with Loki out.” She stepped close to him and rested a finger on his lips. “I am a much more dangerous enemy.”

“The worrying thing is that she’s being completely honest,” he told Phil once she had left. “The things I’ve seen her do to make a point…” He shuddered. “She’s merciless, that one.”

“Indeed, sir,” Phil said, doing his best to maintain a proper professional distance. “And we will consider the puzzle later, but in the meantime, I believe the bell has just rung for dinner, and unless you want to dine in your day clothes you had best make haste.” 

Barton nodded, and accepted the outfit of Phil’s choice docilely. 

“I wish you were going to be at dinner,” Barton said as he disappeared behind the dressing screen and his shirt was tossed over the top for Phil to catch. “Just one friendly face there would make a difference.”

“Sadly impossible, sir,” Phil replied, though he wished that he could offer some support to Barton. “In any case, it might be that I can learn something of advantage in the servants’ hall. Lord Odinson has brought a large retinue, and I will have a chance to talk to them while you dine.”

“I suppose so,” Barton said, emerging in a slightly dishevelled state, and approaching the mirror, tie in hand. “And maybe, Coulson, if you didn’t mind, you could wait up for me this once?”

“Of course, sir,” Phil said, and Barton smiled at him as he opened the door. 

“You’re a rock, Coulson,” he said, his voice warm. “And I have no idea what I would do without you.”


	4. Trouble at Stark Manor

The hour was much advanced when Barton returned to the room. 

To Phil’s keen eye, he looked haggard, and he accepted the glass Phil offered him with a grateful smile. 

“An interesting evening, sir?”

Barton shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. “I had Natasha on one side of me, and Loki on the other. Between the two of them I didn’t manage to get a bite to eat. And what with Bruce and Bucky having some sort of ‘kill Clint through the power of your glare’ tournament, and Rogers taking the glaring personally, and Wilson not having eyes for anyone except Rogers… Well. Conversation wasn’t exactly flowing.”

“What about Stark?” Phil might not _like_ the man, but he was renowned for his hosting skills. 

“He was too busy trying to hide his lovelorn face from Pepper to notice anything else, and she was too busy trying to avoid Stark’s guardian to notice _that_.” Barton finished his drink and held out the glass for a refill. “It comes to something when I’m relieved to see my Aunt, you know.”

“Lady Fury is here?” Phil was surprised – he hadn’t realised she would be present. 

“Yes,” Barton said with a smile at Phil’s expression. “She always turns up where one would least wish her to be.”

“And what did she say about your predicament?”

“Not a word.” Barton stared at his glass intently. “Which either means she has something planned, or she wants to tear into me when she can do so unobserved.” He sipped the drink. “It could be either.”

“At least she might be able to help?” Phil ventured, and Barton smiled.

“She’s done so already – though she’d probably curse you a blue streak if you told her that.”

“What did she do?” Phil asked, intrigued despite his better judgement. 

“Entertained Stark’s guardian, and that oaf, Odinson, and prevented me from having to deal with him again.”

“I would have thought that was easier said than done,” Phil said. 

“Never underestimate my Aunt,” Barton replied. “She’s not a woman it’s easy to ignore at the best of times.” His smile turned slightly malicious. “I’m not sure Odinson or Stane know what hit them, to be perfectly frank.” 

“I can imagine,” Phil said, his voice dry. “But it doesn’t sound like there was too much unpleasantness over dinner?”

Barton snorted. “If you discount the mortification, snide comments, glaring, fear, and atmosphere you could cut with a knife, no, Coulson. It was a barrel of laughs.” He sighed, and put down his glass. “And to cap it all, Thor took me aside after dinner, mauled me in some sort of hug, and told me that he welcomed me into his family.” Barton looked at Phil and shrugged. “He seemed to be pleased I only had two legs. Apparently there have been _incidents_ before. With horses.”

“Oh,” Phil said. 

“Oh, indeed.” Barton shook himself and smiled at Phil. “So, you see, Coulson, I am either to marry the most beautifully violent woman in the world and die at the hands of her enraged ex; marry a youth with a penchant for horses and be expected to redeem him in society; or face death at the hands of the most lethal crack-shot the army ever trained because he can’t manage to have a sensible conversation with his best friend.” He executed a tiny bow. “Welcome to my life.” 

“I’m sure it’s not as bleak as all that,” Phil said. “We’ll find a way through, sir.”

“I like your confidence, Coulson,” Barton said. “I mean, you’re deluded, of course, but I like it.” He eyed the glass pensively. 

“Shall I get you another drink?” Phil asked, and he shook his head. 

“Didn’t get any dinner,” Barton replied. “What with Loki thinking it was a great joke to knock the dishes away when they tried to serve me, or swipe the food from my plate, and Natasha deciding to elbow me in the ribs every time I got a fork halfway to my mouth… well…” He shrugged at Phil.

“That at least I can remedy,” Phil said. “I can fix you a plate in the kitchen and bring it up to you.” 

Barton’s eyes lit up. “And miss out on a chance to raid Anatole’s larder?” he said. “You must be joking, Coulson. No, we’ll do this together or not at all.” 

To be completely fair, Phil did not mind Barton accompanying him. He was good company, and the buried but not forgotten part of Phil that was forever in a scrape back in his days as a pageboy believed that kitchen raids were best achieved as a group activity. 

When they reached the kitchen, however, it was immediately apparent they were not alone. 

Leaving Barton in the doorway, Phil melted into the shadow of the hall, so that Loki, looking up from the raised pie he was butchering, totally missed his presence. He did not escape Barton’s sharp glance, though, even if he spared no acknowledgement for Phil except the slightest of smirks. 

Loki appeared surprised to see Barton – at least, he let his knife fall from his hand and put down the slice of pie he had been eating. 

“Why, if it isn’t my fiancé,” he said, with only the very smallest spray of pie crumbs over the table. “I wonder what can have brought you here?” He paused to spoon a dollop of piccalilli into his mouth. “I doubt it’s the pleasure of my company, alas.”

“Damn right,” Barton growled. “I’d rather spend time with a viper.”

“Ouch,” Loki said, holding a hand to his heart as if wounded. “You don’t mince your words do you?”

“Perhaps you can explain to me why you think I should?”

“Because, if it hasn’t escaped your notice, _Clint_ , you are betrothed to me, and I always thought that sweet nothings were more traditional in circumstances like this.” 

“And here was me thinking you were pragmatic enough not to need them,” Barton said with a sneer. “You certainly gave that impression earlier, anyway.” 

“You took my words to heart?” Loki cocked his head to the side. “In that case, maybe I should be the one investing in sweet nothings.” He swung himself off his seat, lithe as a cat, and stalked over to Barton, pausing in front of him to run his hands over the broad expanse of Barton’s chest in what Phil considered to be an unnecessarily lewd manner. “Now, what _can_ I say to put your mind at rest that this is a love match?”

“Nothing!” Barton said, backing away hurriedly. “I don’t want you to say anything at all.” He held Loki at arm’s length. “I understand why you want to escape from your father…” he screwed up his mouth in a complicated motion. “He’s an acquired taste, I get that. But there has to be a way to do this without involving me, doesn’t there?” He let go of Loki’s shoulders and took a step back. “I mean – I’d help, if I could. However would be best for you. Just… don’t make me marry you.” 

“You’re serious,” Loki said, with something akin to wonder. “You don’t want to get married to me.”

“Sorry.” Barton shrugged. “There’s probably something wrong with my taste, but…” He trailed off, and stared at his feet like a schoolboy waiting for the inevitable wrath of a teacher. 

“We don’t have to _stay_ married,” Loki said, his voice suspiciously close to pleading. “Just long enough to put my father off the scent then you can do what you want.” 

“No,” Barton said, his voice firmer now. “I’ll still help you, but call me old fashioned, when I get married, I want it to be to someone I actually love.” 

“I didn’t think you’d feel like that,” Loki said, his voice small. “You get engaged all the time.”

“Yeah.” Barton scrubbed at the back of his neck, his face rueful. “That does tend to happen. But the important thing to notice is that I’m not married to any of them.”

Loki nodded and sauntered back to his seat and his pie. “We need to come up with another plan, then.” 

Barton nodded. “I guess if your Father was disappointed with you, it might help give you some distance?”

Loki grimaced. “No,” he said. “That just makes things worse – I’ve tried before.”

“But what if this time he’d been told about a school for children who need more of a guiding hand?”

Loki squinted at him suspiciously. “And how would a strict school help me? At least I can escape from the tutors he gets me at the moment.”

“Ah, but that’s what the secret is,” Barton said with a grin. “It’s not a strict school. It’s an academy we all went to. Well, me and Stark and Banner, anyway. In any case, you should find it right up your street. My cousin Kate is going there, the two of you will get on like a house on fire.”

Loki seemed to consider this. “And how do we persuade my father to send me there?” he asked. 

“Well, I guess that we need to do something to make him think you’re uncontrollable.”

“It _is_ the village fete at the weekend,” Loki said, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. 

“See?” Barton said, his voice full of relief. “I’m sure you can find something to do there.”

“Yes, _we_ can,” Loki said, an edge of mischief to his words. “You can help me attack the refreshment stand.”

“Oh, I say…”

“And if you do, I will break the engagement.” 

“It doesn’t look like I have much choice, does it?” Barton said, all traces of humour falling from his expression.

“Not really.” Loki smiled coldly. “Get your courage together and help me attack a bunch of dull old bores stuffing their faces with cake, or get married to me. It’s up to you, Clint.”

“Fine,” Barton said. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” Loki dipped his spoon back into the jar of piccalilli. “Now run along, _darling_. I have a pie to finish.”

Barton nodded and turned on his heel. 

Phil slipped silently into the shadows next to him, and was rewarded with the smallest of smiles. “A house on fire?” he asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the kitchen. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” Barton said with a grin. “Flames, screaming, mayhem, death… He and Kate will be just like a house on fire.” 

“I can make sure Lord Odinson has heard of the school,” Phil said. 

“You know it?” Barton looked surprised. 

“I was approached to work there at one stage of my career.” Phil raised an eyebrow archly at the look on Barton’s face. 

“And you didn’t take it?” Barton sounded incredulous. “I would have thought that after trying to organise and dress young members of the aristocracy, a school would have been a restful change.” 

Phil laughed. “And yet I look at youths like Loki back there and cannot regret my decision.”

“No.” Barton shivered. “Maybe you’re right.”

He lapsed into abstracted silence and it was only when they got back to his room that he turned to face Phil.

“I have to do it,” he said. “I don’t want to marry him, but he does need my help.”

Phil felt the muscles of his face tighten with displeasure. “There might be other ways, sir,” he said. “There is far too much that can go wrong here.”

“Obviously this will be easier with your help,” Barton said, “but I will do it with or without you, Coulson.”

“Understood, sir,” Phil said, and watched with a heavy heart as Barton turned from him to prepare for bed. 

Even as he took his own bed in the dressing room, he could see the light from Barton’s room under the adjoining door, and though he lay awake late into the night, the light was not extinguished, nor did he hear the sound of Barton sleeping. 

oOo

Barton must have slept eventually, because when Phil awoke next morning he was nothing more than a snoring lump under his bedclothes. 

Aware only of a desire to protect Barton’s sleep, Phil slipped into his room and made sure the curtains were pulled fast against the morning light. 

One of Barton’s feet was poking from under the blankets, and Phil gently covered it before removing himself from the room and closing the door softly behind him. He would ensure the servants were warned to leave him undisturbed. 

They were beset by problems, he thought as he made his way to the servants’ staircase, and although it wasn’t beyond his capabilities to solve them, he would have his work cut out to make sure that Barton came through with his reputation intact.

That he wanted Barton to do so came as no surprise to him. For all his tendencies to get into the most ridiculous scrapes, Phil was fond of the man, and to abandon him was unthinkable. That he would have left any of his past masters had they embroiled him in such a series of embarrassments didn’t occur to Phil – or if it did, he told himself that Barton was a different case and left the matter at that. 

He had nearly reached the servants’ dining hall when he bumped into a lady who he immediately realised must be Lord Stark’s assistant, Miss Potts. 

“Oh!” She had been climbing the stairs at speed and the impact made her stumble. Phil reached out and caught her arm, preventing her from losing her balance completely. 

“I am sorry,” he said. “I was so busy with my thoughts I wasn’t looking where I was going.” 

“Oh, no,” she said, smiling up at him. “The fault is mine. I was rushing and should have been more careful.” 

She was really remarkably pretty, Phil realised. The deep burgundy of her outfit set off the clear pallor of her skin to admiration, but it was the fierce intelligence he could see in her eyes that let him understand why Stark had fallen for her. 

“You must be Barton’s new valet,” she said, taking a step back as Phil released her arm. “Coulson?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “And you must be the lovely Miss Potts I have heard so much about.”

“I am,” she said, “though who has told you about me, I have no idea.”

“You don’t?” He looked at her quizzically. “From what Lord Stark was telling me, you are indispensible to him.”

She coloured and looked away. “You will find that Ton… that Lord Stark is kinder in your absence than he is in your presence.” Recollecting herself, she turned back to Phil. “You were on your way to breakfast? I will show you the way.”

“If you have the leisure to do so,” Phil said. “I am sure you have many demands on your time.”

“I do,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “But they can wait while I take a cup of tea with you.” 

It didn’t take until the first cup had been drunk before they discovered a wealth of shared interests. Miss Potts – “Pepper, please” – was a charming companion, and had Phil’s interests run in the more usual direction he would have been quite jealous of Stark. 

That she was deeply in love with Stark was obvious; that she was unaware of his feelings was equally plain. Although she seemed like she would normally be reticent to discuss her personal life, it took very little prompting from Phil for her to unburden herself, and he had not finished his toast before she was explaining her predicament to him. 

“But why does Lord Stark seem to think you are in love with Aldrich Killian?” he asked at last, placing his teacup back on its saucer. 

“Because it was the only way I could be sure of misleading Obadiah Stane of the true nature of my feelings,” she said, her voice the barest murmur. 

“I understood he opposed the match,” Phil said, “but why do you need to disguise your feelings? Stane might be displeased, but Stark is of age and there is nothing that Stane can do to stop it.”

Her face shuttered and she looked down at her clasped hands. “I have no idea if Lord Stark shares my regard,” she said in a small voice, “but the situation is more complex than you can imagine. Tony would prefer to be relieved of the pressures of business – he longs to be left undisturbed in his workshop – and you can be sure that Stane is enthusiastic to encourage this state of affairs.”

“You suspect that Stane is using Stark’s business for reasons of his own?”

Her mouth pinched unhappily. “I have no evidence of such a thing,” she said, “and to suggest it would bring swift repercussions.”

“Has Stane threatened you?” Phil asked, and she met and held his gaze of a long minute. 

“We should go upstairs,” she said. “Lord Stark will probably have noticed that I am missing by now, and I am sure you have things you need to get on with?”

Phil nodded and rose, walking alongside her back to the main body of the house. 

“I have talked too much about my affairs,” she said to Phil with a small smile. 

“It was my pleasure to listen,” Phil replied, “and I am sure you need no assurances from me that anything you said will be held in confidence.”

She nodded, and touched his arm. “And what of you, Phil? Is there someone special in your life?”

“I…” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Pepper smiled at him encouragingly. “That sounds like there might be to me.”

He looked away, embarrassed. “There is a cellist,” he said. “But I am not sure of my own feelings yet.”

“Then I won’t mention it again,” she replied. “Indeed, you can always…”

“Pepper! Where have you been?” Stark peered down the stairs at her. “I’ve been looking for you for ages. Hours. Days.”

He pulled a forlorn face, like the last puppy in the pet shop and Pepper sighed. 

“I shouldn’t have to remind you, Lord Stark, that I am entitled to meal times free from interruption and harassment,” she said, though the warm look in her eyes took the sting from her words. 

“But you were with _him_ ,” Stark said, outraged. “How come he isn’t _interrupting and harassing_ you?”

“Because _he_ is capable of polite conversation,” Pepper said archly, “and managed to go a whole meal time without talking about his _contraptions_.”

Stark shot Phil a dark look. “Only because he’s too dull,” he said. “But Pepper, are you going to pay attention to me now?”

“Later.” She looked at him sternly. “You know I need to get the inventory of the artwork completed for the insurers today.” 

“Fine,” Stark huffed. “Be like that. I’ll just make my own entertainment, then.”

Pepper looked alarmed, and Phil cleared his throat politely. 

“If you have time, sir, I would appreciate a word with you,” he said. 

Stark looked at him suspiciously, before obviously remembering the conversation he had had with Barton yesterday. “Sure,” he said, in a tone suspiciously close to a sigh. “You can come to my workshop with me.”

“Very good, sir,” Phil said, and did his best to keep pace with Stark without appearing to be rushed. 

No matter what else Lord Stark might be – and the jury was still out on that as far as Phil was concerned – he clearly knew his science. His workshop was well equipped and well ordered, even if that might not have been apparent to a casual glance.

Despite himself, Phil was impressed. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Stark didn’t bother waiting for Phil’s response – instead he turned to his workbench and the array of parts laid out there. 

“Obadiah Stane,” Phil said.

“My guardian?” Although Stark had frozen in position, he didn’t turn to look at Phil. “What about him?”

“He seems to have reacted badly when you told him about Miss Potts,” Phil said. “I wondered why that was.”

“Badly? That’s an understatement.” Stark looked rueful. “The thing is, Obie has stood in for my parents for so long now, that he forgets he isn’t really my father.”

“He’s been close to you since your parents died?” 

“Yes.” Stark’s eyes were focussed on the past. “He was the one who told me about the accident and he’s been by my side ever since.” He swallowed audibly. “I know I’m a disappointment to him – he wanted me to be interested in my father’s companies – but unless I seriously put him out, he lets me get on with my interests here and does all the hard work for me. He’s the one who turns my inventions into things the Board wants to see. He’s the one who runs the companies. And I am grateful to him.”

Personally, Phil was suspicious of this. To be able to act as the voice of the owner of a company as large and powerful as Stark Industries was not a wholly charitable enterprise in his eyes, and he thought Stark was giving Stane more benefit of the doubt than was wise. 

“I still don’t understand why he doesn’t approve of Miss Potts, though,” Phil said. “Surely she is a stabilising influence on you?”

“I’d hoped he would think that too,” Stark said. “I thought that marriage and wanting to be involved in the running of the company would have made his dreams come true, but when I told him, he wasn’t pleased at all. In fact,” Stark’s mouth tightened, “he said some fairly unforgivable things.”

“He did?” It confirmed Phil’s suspicions, though it gave him no pleasure to admit this, even to himself. 

“What are you thinking?” Stark looked at him narrowly. “You think that Obie is preparing to perforate my favourite waistcoat with a too-ready dagger?” 

“The thought had occurred to me,” Phil said, his face impassive. 

“And what should I do about it?”

“Nothing,” Phil said. “Not without proof.”

“And how do I get proof without making him aware of these ‘suspicions’?” Stark asked, one eyebrow raised in elegant scepticism. “If you’re wrong then you’re casting an unforgivable slur against someone who has always had my best interests at heart.”

“And if I’m right then someone who has professed to have your interests at heart will be proved to be a liar,” Phil said. “And you can discount the advice he has given you about Miss Potts.”

Stark looked thoughtful. “So,” he said, “what do you want to do?”

“Give me leave to look at the books for your company,” Phil said, “and distract Stane while I’m doing it. If I’m wrong, well, there’s no harm done – he will never know you doubted him.”

“And if you’re right…” They made eye contact, and Stark nodded. “Clint’s right about you” he said. “And I’ll trust you with this.” He scribbled a note on a scrap of paper. “Give this to Pepp. She’ll get you the documents you need.”

“I’ll report back to you. And sir? If I might be so bold as to give you some advice?”

“What?” The suspicious look was back on Stark’s face. 

“Let Miss Potts know what is in your heart. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

Stark’s face twisted. “Or I might end up with my heart broken.”

“I doubt it, sir,” Phil said. “But at least consider my advice.”

Stark looked torn but at length he nodded. “I’ll consider it,” he said, “but I’m not doing anything until I hear back from you about Obie.”

It was as much as Phil could hope for, and his mood, as he left Stark’s workshop, was lighter than it had been. 

Buoyed by his success, he decided to lose no time in addressing the last of his immediate problems. 

He needed to give Lord Odinson the information about the school Barton had discussed with Loki. In Phil’s opinion, it would be better for his father to have the school in his mind before Loki began his campaign of shock and awe. 

How to do it, though, was a ticklish question. 

Too heavy a hand in imparting the information, and Lord Odinson would realise he was being manipulated; being too subtle with the information risked Lord Odinson failing to remember it at the crucial moment. 

In the end, he was indebted to Jarvis for his help. 

Lord Odinson was ensconced in the library with his newspaper, and it was a matter of no great ingenuity for Jarvis and Phil to hold a staged conversation that Odinson would believe they thought unobserved. 

Phil thought they acquitted themselves well: he doubted he or Jarvis even had to stretch the truth when they talked about the benefits they had seen the school could have for their masters, and Jarvis had arranged an interruption from a footman which explained why the yearbook that had prompted the discussion was left un-shelved and readily available for Lord Odinson to peruse as they slipped from the room. 

All in all, Phil felt perfectly justified in feeling he had successfully completed a tricky task as he slipped back to Barton’s room via the servants’ staircase. 

Which, of course, made the foul mood he found Barton in all the more incomprehensible. 

One thing that you could say about Barton was that he wasn’t subtle about expressing his displeasure – even when he was obviously attempting to be so. 

He was still in bed when Phil entered the room, and was hiding behind a book, but he didn’t acknowledge his valet by so much as a blink. 

“Good morning, sir.” Phil might have turned the job down at that school, but that didn’t mean he was unused to dealing with stroppy youths, and in his experience ignoring atmospheres like this was oft-times the best way forward. “You’ve taken the opportunity to catch up on some sleep, I see?”

There was no response other than a sniff and an emphatically turned page. 

“Shall I lay out your clothes? I was thinking the pale green waistcoat would be suitable this morning.”

Barton remained silent, though the way he bit his lip suggested that the resolve was costing him some effort. 

“It might interest you to know,” Phil said, his temper starting to fray at Barton’s childish behaviour, “that I have managed to talk to Lord Stark and Miss Potts already this morning, _and_ I think I have succeeded in planting the idea of the school in Lord Odinson’s mind.” He finished laying out the outfit for Barton and turned back towards him, to find that he had laid his book aside and was scowling darkly at him. “You didn’t wish me to do so? I thought that after last night…”

“Yes,” Barton said sharply. “But apparently we both _thought_ things after last night that had no basis in reality.” 

“Excuse me, sir?” Phil tried to bite back his irritation, though he was aware he was largely unsuccessful. “I seem to have offended you, but I have no idea how.”

“Of course you don’t,” Barton said. “It’s just Dummy Barton, isn’t it? Why would he expect to be taken seriously?” He threw his bed covers back and grabbed for the dressing gown. “I mean, I’m the butt of the joke for everyone else.” For a second his anger seemed to desert him, and he looked vulnerable and tired, his feet bare, the lines of the dressing gown slightly too big for him. “And I _was_ stupid to think it would be different this time, but I honestly thought that after last night you would help me and we would do this as a team.” His face went blank. “And then I got up to talk to you this morning and you had gone.”

“But I was helping!” All Phil’s anger had gone, replaced by an icy-hot feeling of shame in his chest. 

Barton shook his head. “That just makes it worse,” he said. “It never even occurred to you that I was worth including.”

“No,” Phil said, shaking his head. “I thought I would play to my strengths. As a servant there are things I can do – places I can go – that you can’t.” 

“And you didn’t think it was worth consulting me first?” 

“You were asleep. I thought it better that you got what rest you could – I didn’t think you had found it easy to fall asleep last night.” 

Barton laughed humourlessly. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you? And what if I had needed you when I woke up? I was expected to wander the landings hoping someone had seen my valet so I could get dressed?”

“I thought you prized yourself on being self-sufficient, sir?” It was meant to be gently teasing – to remind Barton of the first night Phil had spent at his apartment – but he could immediately see from the way Barton’s brows snapped together that the jibe had been badly judged. 

“Don’t bother with my clothes,” Barton snapped. “I can manage on my own. You get on with whatever you think is important.” He shot a venomous look at Phil, stopping him in his tracks. “No need to tell me what that is – I’m not interested.” 

“Mr. Barton…” Phil reached out towards him, helpless in the face of his wrath. “Clint…”

That caught his attention and he turned, his face caught between anger and suspicion. 

“I…” Phil’s hesitant start was cut off when there was a knock on the door, and this time he didn’t even try to stifle his groan of frustration. 

For a moment Clint remained still, his eyes fixed on Phil. Then he nodded, the expression on his face softening. “Get the door,” he said. “This can wait.” 

Phil nodded and had barely reached the door when it sprang open and Lord Stark burst into the room, the screwdriver he’d used to gain entrance still clasped in his hand. 

“Clint!” He smiled brightly at him. “Your man is a bloody genius. I take back everything I ever said to the contrary.”

That brought a reluctant smile to Clint’s face. “I did try to tell you,” he said. “So, what made you finally see the light?”

“He told me to talk to Pepper,” Stark said, a soft smile on his face, “and I did.”

“You told her how you feel?” Clint said, his astonishment evident. 

“Well, not quite.” Stark glanced down at his feet, before looking at Clint, the smile returning to his face. “But nearly. Anyway,” he shook himself, “I came to tell your man that I’m going to leave the whole Obie thing up to him.” He smiled round at Phil. “There’s a village fete this weekend, you know, and I’m going to win the contraption race for her.” He gestured grandly. “She won’t look twice at Killian if I beat him.”

Personally, Phil felt that this was an unnecessary step, but if it kept Stark out of his way while he investigated Stane – well, so much the better. 

Clint seemed to feel the same way because he shot Phil a very speaking look before clapping Stark on the shoulder. “That’s a great idea,” he said, “but do you have time to put together a winning entry? I mean, there are only a couple of days and Killian will have been working on his entry for months now.”

If there was anything anyone could have said to cement Stark’s resolve, this was it, and his expression turned stubborn. “Are you implying that I might lose?” he asked, a dangerous light in his eyes. “Because I will remind you that _I_ am a genius, and _he_ is a second-rate, imbecilic hack.”

“Oh, yeah.” Clint widened his eyes, protesting his innocence. “I mean, sure. I was just worried that the extra time would make a….”

“He could have years,” Stark said, poking Clint in the shoulder, “and it wouldn’t make a difference, because I could out-invent him in a day – in an hour.”

Clint opened his mouth to reply, but fortunately for Phil’s peace of mind there was a soft tap at the door and Pepper pushed it open. 

“Oh,” she said, her cheeks colouring. “I didn’t realise anyone was here, I just…”

“No need to explain,” Stark said, bending in a deep bow and kissing her hand. “I have places to go, contraptions to build, so you must excuse me, gentlemen, lady.” 

He kissed Pepper’s hand again and smiled at her before rushing from the room. 

She stared after him, her colour still high, until Phil coughed quietly, recalling her to her companions. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I just…”

“He’s a force of nature, isn’t he?” Clint said with a smile. “I don’t know how you work for him.”

“He’s a generous boss,” she said, “and he _is_ a genius.”

Clint grinned at her. “He is,” he said. “But don’t tell him I said that. I mean, you should have seen the stuff he came up with at school.”

“You don’t need to tell me, Mr. Barton,” she said, more collected now. “I am sure he hasn’t grown up at all.”

“Maybe not,” Clint said, “but I am looking forward to seeing what he comes up with for the contraption race.”

“I’m sure we all are,” Phil said, turning to smile at Pepper, “but how can we help you, Miss Potts?”

“Of course,” she said. “I came to see you, Mr. Coulson. Tony asked me to set out his company books and accounts for you, and I wanted to let you know that I’ve put them in the library.” She hesitated before looking at Phil earnestly. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that he is letting you look into this. I have been concerned for so long now, and no matter how I feel about Tony…” She trailed off and looked at her hand as if his lips had left an impression on it. “Oh, Phil.” She smiled at him blindingly. “I do hope you manage to sort things out with your cellist.”

She clasped his hand warmly before rushing out, leaving what could only be called an awkward silence in her wake. 

Phil used the opportunity to sort out Clint’s already well-ordered sock drawer. He was every inch the consummate professional, and anyone who said his ears were burning hot was clearly a lying liar who lied.

“Cellist?” Clint’s voice was amused, warm even, but that was no guarantee of safety. 

“It is of no matter, sir,” Phil said, his back still firmly to Clint. 

“I wonder who that can be?” Clint’s voice was very close now, so close that Phil would swear his breath stirred the hairs on the back of Phil’s neck, and it took every ounce of Phil’s willpower not to turn around. 

“Nobody, sir. There is… nobody. Miss Potts took a comment out of context, that is all.”

“Really?”

For a second Phil wasn’t sure that Clint would believe him – wasn’t sure that he wanted Clint to believe him – but then Clint made a non-committal noise and stepped away. 

“I guess you’ll tell me in your own time,” he said. “So, you have some accounts to look at?”

“Yes,” Phil said, relieved despite himself at the change in subject. “Though I would value the chance to talk to you about it first.”

“Doing it too brown,” Clint said with a smile. “You know damn well what you’re doing there.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t offer advice,” Phil said. “But I do think the books will show that Stane has been playing fast and loose with Stark’s business.” 

“Heh,” Clint says. “Business stuff. Well, I’m sure you know what you’re doing with it, so I’ll leave you to it.” 

“Are you sure?” Phil asked. “Another set of eyes is always welcome.”

“Quite sure.” Clint smiled warmly at him. “ _I_ am going to make use of Tony’s workshops and do some inventing of my own.”

“Dare I even ask?”

“Exploding arrows,” Clint said, wide-eyed and hopeful. “You know, I think they are just the thing to help me with the raid on the fete.” 

oOo

It was with some trepidation that Phil left Clint to his _inventing_. He was almost tempted to stay and supervise – but he doubted that Stane would remain ignorant for long of Stark’s newfound interest in his businesses. 

No, now that Stark had accessed the books and accounts, he had started a countdown, and it was up to Phil to collect the evidence he needed before Stane exploded. 

Pepper had been as good as her word. All the information Phil could have wanted, and more besides, was set out on the tables, and Phil felt himself relax as he sat down in front of it. 

The role of a valet didn’t give much leisure for study, and to have time to unpick a problem in such luxurious surroundings had all the appeal of a rare treat. 

He was undisturbed for the first half hour, and hoped to remain so for the rest of the afternoon when the door opened gently and Dr. Banner entered. He looked unusually morose, and aside from nodding towards Phil – the barest movement that civility dictated – he made no effort to communicate. Instead he retreated to a far corner of the library where he turned one of the wing-backed chairs towards the window. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Phil kept on with his work. He was completely unsurprised to find that Stane had been using Stark’s business to further his own agenda – the only question in his mind was how deep the corruption ran. 

Even the cursory examination he had made so far revealed a definite pattern, but Stane had done his best to cover his tracks. It was going to take all of Phil’s considerable intelligence to compile enough evidence for Stark to be able to act. He was confident, however, that the evidence was there, and he soon lost track of time as he chased the anomalies through the accounts. 

He was recalled to his surroundings an indeterminate time later when Clint appeared at his shoulder and placed a cup of tea down next to him. 

“Thank you,” Phil said, surprised. “But there was no need for you to do this.”

“There clearly was,” Clint said with a smile. “You came down here hours ago, and Pepper said no one had seen you in the dining hall at lunch.”

“I hadn’t realised it had been that long,” Phil said, only aware of how thirsty he was when he took the first sip of tea. “But there was still no need for you to fetch me tea.”

“Nonsense.” Clint rested his hand on Phil’s shoulder. “Now admit it – without me you’d have turned into a desiccated husk.”

“Without you I would have gone to the kitchen and gotten a cup for myself,” Phil said. 

Clint shook his head with exaggerated sadness. “Desiccated husk,” he said. “And _then_ what would I have done?”

“Worn appalling clothes with impunity?” Phil said. “Got engaged to everyone you ever met? Been hounded from polite soc…”

“Enough!” Clint took a step back, his hands held up in mock surrender. “You’ve made your point!”

Phil toasted him with the cup, and Clint sat down next to him.  
“So, you’re getting somewhere then?”

“I think so.” Phil gestured at the sheets of notes he’d taken. “There’s still more to do though. How are you getting on with your arrows?”

He asked with some trepidation – there was a scorch mark on the cuff of Clint’s shirt, and what looked like light burn marks on his face – and Clint shrugged sheepishly. 

“They worked,” he said, “but perhaps they worked a little too well?”

“How big was the fire?”

“Not that bad.” Clint assiduously avoided eye contact. “Tony managed to put it out without _too_ much trouble.”

Phil said nothing, contenting himself with raising an eyebrow, and Clint slumped in his seat.

“Alright, fine,” he said, exasperated. “You’re right. Exploding arrows won’t do for the fete – not ones that explode fire anyway.”

“What are you planning now?” Phil asked, though he sounded amused even to his own ears. 

“Pondweed,” Clint said. “A satisfying splat and serious amount of mess without setting anything alight.” 

Phil nodded. “It’s a compromise at least,” he said. “Though I’m not sure where you’ll get hold of the pondweed.” 

“Oh, there’s plenty of it outside,” Clint said. “I’m off to collect it now, in fact.” He stood up. “With the smallest bit of luck I’ll be free of at least one of these horrible engagements soon.” He grinned at Phil. “And if push comes to shove we can flee the country before that blasted cousin of mine manages to force me up the aisle.” 

He patted Phil on the shoulder and headed to the door. Phil watched him go, his mind a million miles from his notes and lost in his own world until he was recalled by a soft cough. 

“What did Barton mean?” Dr. Banner asked causing Phil to startle – he had forgotten he wasn’t alone in the library. “About Natasha?”

“I don’t think Mr. Barton is wholly enjoying his engagement to Miss Romanov,” Phil said, using every ounce of his diplomacy. “He didn’t meant to come between…”

Banner barked a laugh and pushed himself out of his chair. “Not ‘wholly enjoying’ his engagement?” he said, his voice sardonic. “He should be on his knees thanking whatever Gods there are that someone as wonderful as Natasha would even deign to look at him.” He looked out the window and scowled. “Look at him – grubbing ‘round in the pond like a school child. He doesn’t deserve her.”

“He certainly doesn’t value her like you do,” Phil said, the faintest glimmering of a plan dawning to him. “And Miss Romanov strikes me as a very special lady.”

“Oh, she is.” The lines around Banner’s eyes softened. “She’s wonderful.” He looked down at his hands. “I don’t know what I was thinking, letting her think my experiments were more important than she was.”

“It’s not too late?” Phil suggested, but Banner shook his head.

“It is,” he said. “She’s made her choice. I might regret my actions that led her to make it, but I have to respect her choice.” He looked out the window again and his expression hardened. “It would be easier if I thought Barton realised how lucky he is.” 

Outside, by the pond, Natasha had joined Clint. She was talking to him, although from the look Clint gave her, he wasn’t interested in anything she had to say. 

“Maybe you should tell him?” Phil said. “Explain where he’s going wrong with her? Tell him how he should be treating her.”

“Yes.” Resolve hardened in Banner’s expression. “Yes. Thank you, Coulson. I’m going to do that now.”

He walked out of the library with a firm tread, and from the window Phil watched as he burst from the house and approached Clint at almost a run. 

He couldn’t hear the substance of their conversation, but from their body language, he guessed that Banner was more emotional than rational at the moment.

Indeed, he was less than surprised when Banner punched Clint in the face, knocking him backwards into the pond, before throwing himself on his knees at Natasha’s feet, clasping her hands and holding them close to his chest. 

It seemed to take an age for Natasha to smile down at Banner, but at last she did, and he sprang to his feet, catching her in his arms and kissing her. 

Even knowing how Clint felt about the engagement, Phil still felt a leap of concern. But when he looked at Clint, still sitting in the shallow water of the pond, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, Clint looked up at him, winking when he saw he had Phil’s attention. 

Phil stepped back from the window, inexplicably flustered. He hadn’t realised he could be seen, and he suddenly felt as if he had been caught eavesdropping. 

He returned to his notes, but couldn’t settle back to his work. The numbers, which had so obligingly yielded their secrets earlier, were now uncooperative, and at length Phil pushed his chair back from the table.

If nothing else, Clint would need help icing his eye and repairing the damage to his wet clothes. 

Confident at last of where his duty lay, Phil headed off to find Clint. He had enough to prove to Stark what Stane was up to, and if necessary he could return to the accounts later. For now, Clint needed him. 

oOo

By the time he got back to the room Clint was wrapped in his dressing gown, rubbing his hair with a towel, his wet clothes laying where they’d fallen. 

“Ouch,” Phil said, wincing at Clint’s black eye, and Clint grinned ruefully. 

“If it’s any consolation,” he said, “it feels as bad as it looks.”

“That’s no consolation at all,” Phil said, “but here. Put this on it.”

He held out the bag of ice he’d brought from the kitchen on his way up, and Clint took it gratefully. 

“I know it gives the desired result,” he said, resting the bag on his eye, “but I can’t help wishing there had been a less painful way to do it.”

“The engagement’s over?” 

“Oh, yes.” Clint smiled. “Natasha is most definitely back together with Bruce now, and didn’t even have the courtesy to pretend she was reluctant to break the engagement with me. Frankly, I suspect Bruce is so full of good will at the moment that he’ll even forgive me.” 

“I imagine so. He seems like he has a temper but he doesn’t seem to hold grudges. “

“No.” Clint laughed. “The stories I could tell you about the times he’s lost his temper with me…”

Phil smiled. “So, you’re down to one betrothal now?”

“I am.” Clint finished drying his hair and threw the towel over the back on a chair. “And hopefully even that will be over soon.” 

“Yes.” Phil started picking up the discarded clothing. “And what then?” 

“Hummm? Afterwards? Well…” He looked thoughtful. “Life as usual, I guess.” He looked at Phil assessingly. “Or we could travel, I guess. A bit of time away might be good for both of us.” 

“Whatever suits you best, sir,” Phil said, his most impassive expression in place, even if travelling with Clint sounded like an ideal plan right now.

“Sir?” Clint looked at him quizzically. “What have I done to offend you? I thought we were beyond ‘sirs’.” 

“What should I call you, then?”

“How about my name?” He smiled mischievously. “You could call me Clint.”

It was tempting, but Phil shook his head. 

“Think of the scandal,” he said. “You already give me an unusual amount of licence, sir, but there are some things that it would be … dangerous to allow people to assume.” 

Clint gestured to the room. “And yet, I don’t see anyone here who _could_ be scandalised or who could make assumptions.” 

“It’s dangerous,” Phil said. “You shouldn’t expose yourself to the risk.” 

“I wish,” Clint said, “that you would do me the justice of allowing me to choose for myself what risks I take.” 

“And if I don’t want to use your name because it makes me uncomfortable?”

“Then we’ll say no more of it.” He looked at Phil from under his lashes. “Would it?” 

“I don’t know,” Phil said. “I hadn’t considered it until now.” This wasn’t wholly true, he realised – it had been a long while since he had thought of Clint by anything but his name. But the fact remained, what he was free to do in the privacy of his own thoughts was very different to the standards he was expected to maintain in public. 

“Too busy thinking about your cellist?”

“Yes,” Phil said, aware of the heat in his cheeks but meeting Clint’s eyes nonetheless. “Yes, I have been.”

“Well, then.” Clint smiled. “You have a lot to consider. I only hope you will let me know when you have reached some conclusions.”

“I will.” Phil swallowed, the noise loud in the quiet of the room. “Trust me, you will be the first to know.”


	5. The Flying Thingumajig

How they got through the last day before the fete would forever be a mystery to Phil. 

Bruce and Natasha were obviously deliriously happy together, and Tony, in the rare moments when he emerged from his workshop, was full of excitement. 

The same could not be said for Bucky or his friends though, all of whom seemed to be engaging in some sort of game of cat chess – trying to keep the others in their sight while remaining undiscovered themselves. 

It would have been amusing in other circumstances, but each of them seemed so uncharacteristically unsure of themselves, that Phil found his heart going out to them.

More concerningly, Stane had arrived at the house, and Pepper, on the few occasions Phil had seen her, was wearing a pinched look around her eyes. 

Phil was also concerned about the hold Loki had over Clint. He had sought out Clint on several occasions for private conversations, and Clint had emerged from these tense and uncommunicative. 

All in all, Phil would be very glad when the fete was over and they could move on with their lives. 

He was ruminating on this as he applied himself to repairing the damage done to Clint’s outfit by his submersion in the pond. Stark’s laundress had done her best with the clothes, but Phil flattered himself that he could improve on her work. Besides, it was a welcome distraction to his concern.

The collar of Clint’s shirt was giving him some small measure of difficulty when there was a commanding rap on the door of his room. He didn’t even have a chance to answer before the door opened and Lady Fury strode in. 

“Madam,” Phil stammered. “I am afraid your nephew isn’t here right now.” He was, to the best of Phil’s knowledge, in Stark’s workshop working on those dratted arrows, but he felt it best if Clint’s Aunt remained unaware of that fact. 

“I am perfectly aware of that,” Lady Fury said. “What, pray tell, would be the point of coming to see you alone if he _was_ here?” 

“You came to see _me_?” Surprise rendered Phil incapable of keeping some of his emotions out of his tone, but if he was afraid that Lady Fury would be offended by the horror in his voice, he was mistaken. 

“Oh, don’t be such a fool, man,” she said, her face alive with amusement. “It’s nothing like _that_. No. I want you to tell me what my nephew is planning for tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” Phil wasn’t used to feeling caught out, and he didn’t like the sensation in the least. 

“Tomorrow.” Lady Fury fixed him with a steely gaze. “And I will thank you not to insult my intelligence by pretending not to know what I am talking about.” 

“You mean the fete?” Phil decided to take her at her word – she had never struck him as someone who should be underestimated. 

“I do mean the fete.” She inclined her head. “I know my idiot nephew has some sort of escapade planned, what I am not sure of is why he has let himself be dragged into that Odinson boy’s plans.”

“I believe he sees it as a means of ending his engagement,” Phil said, “and of helping Loki find a more tolerable living arrangement.”

Lady Fury pressed her lips together. “At least he is trying to resolve this himself,” she said at last. “I was beginning to think he lacked any rumgumption whatsoever.”

Phil laughed. “No,” he said. “I’d hardly say he lacked that.”

She nodded abstractedly. “And you have a vested interest in that, of course.” She glanced at him, judging his reaction. “Ending the engagement, I mean.” He opened his mouth to speak and she held up her hand to silence him. “I must confess, I have been disappointed in what my nephew has done with his life so far. He has tremendous Potential, but hasn’t sought to use it. His life has been too easy. That is why I have been seeking to find a suitable wife for him – he needs someone to give him consistency and form, someone to encourage him.” She looked at Phil. “I am coming to think that I made a fundamental error in that strategy.” 

“I couldn’t say, madam,” Phil said, summoning every bit of haughty froideur he could muster. “I believe that sort of enquiry would be best made to your nephew in person.”

She laughed at him, though it did not sound cruel. “I like you, Mr. Coulson,” she said. “And once he is released from this engagement, I feel that travel would be beneficial for my nephew. Indeed, I have some properties and dealings overseas that I am now considering would benefit from a visit from my representative. What do you think of that plan?”

Phil raised an eyebrow at her. “I think that Mr. Barton is perfectly capable of making his own decisions.”

“But what about you, Mr. Coulson?” she asked. “Would you be willing to travel if my nephew was?”

“Yes.” He met her gaze steadily. “If he asked me to accompany him, I would.” 

“Well then.” She looked smug. “I shall await the outcome of tomorrow’s festivities with bated breath.”

“You’re going to let it go ahead? But…”

“Now, now, Mr. Coulson. I don’t think I need to know the details. It would spoil the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

She turned to go, but paused at the door.

“You have a deft touch with tricky problems. It’s a pleasure to watch, but I do think you should do something to help those poor boys, don’t you?”

Outside the door Captain Rogers walked past, his head down. Less than half a minute later Lieutenant Barnes followed, his expression unreadable, false hand tucked into his pocket like an afterthought, and behind him, Major Wilson trailed unnoticed by everyone except Phil and Lady Fury.

“It’s not that it isn’t amusing,” Lady Fury said, “or it was to begin with, but the angst of young people is best enjoyed in small doses and at infrequent intervals lest it begin to pall.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Phil said. “But I make no promises.”

She nodded. “I would expect nothing different,” she replied. “It will be amusing to see you at work, Mr. Coulson.” 

oOo

It didn’t take long, however, before Lady Fury’s amusement was the last thing on Phil’s mind. 

Getting to talk to any of the three was difficult enough – Phil would be forced to confess he was stumped by how he could go about solving the conundrum of their relationship. 

In the end he received unexpected aid from Natasha who demanded attendance from Lieutenant Barnes after luncheon. He didn’t linger to hear why; instead he used the opportunity to corner Captain Rogers. 

If he was hoping that talking to Rogers would help, though, he was sadly mistaken. 

Captain Rogers was courteous – extremely courteous – but he managed to deflect every one of Phil’s carefully-worded questions and, without sacrificing an ounce of politeness, responded to Phil’s every suggestion about how he could approach Lieutenant Barnes with completely blank incomprehension. 

Nonetheless, despite Captain Rogers’ scrupulous affability, Phil would have wagered his last pound that he was upset about the situation with Barnes, and it was for Rogers’ sake as much as for his own that he regretted not being able to persuade the Captain to confide in him. 

Consequently, he was feeling uncharacteristically snappy by the time he headed to Stark’s workshop. 

Unfortunately for him, Stark wasn’t the sort of man who gave one the space to sulk, and as soon as Phil opened the workshop door Stark dropped the heavy piece of metal he was working on, and reached for a rag.

“Coulson!” He grinned at Phil while wiping his hands on the rag. “How exciting to see you in my humble abode. Don’t tell me you’ve had enough of books and clothes and decided to have some real fun for a change?”

It was enough to force a smile from Phil, and he walked over to the workbench that Stark had been working at. It was littered in large flaps of metal and long lengths of leather and, more worryingly, what looked like an inverted propane burner. 

“What are you working on?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, and Stark’s face lit up. 

“It’s my entry for the contraption race.”

“But _what_ is it?” Despite his bad mood, Phil was intrigued. 

“A jetpack!” Stark said. “It will allow a man to fly through the skies, as free as a bird.”

Phil looked at it sceptically. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“No more than flying by plane, or travelling by car,” Stark said. “It might not be as sturdy as a sea-liner or train, but just think of the freedom.”

His enthusiasm was contagious, and Phil found himself returning Stark’s smile. 

“If it works, it will be an impressive sight,” he said. “I can’t imagine that Killian will have anything like it.”

“Pah,” Stark said, with a sneer. “Killian will run home in tears when he sees this beauty.” He stroked one of the metal panels lovingly. “No, you mark my words, Coulson. This little beauty is the future.”

Phil was assailed by the picture of London – a horde of flying inhabitants flitting through the air – and smiled. “It would be something to see, sir.”

“It certainly would.” Stark paused and looked at him assessingly. “But you didn’t come to talk to me about this, did you?”

“No.” Phil took a deep breath to steady himself, and put the folder of notes he’d made down on the workbench near Stark. “I’m afraid I have found more than enough proof for my suspicions. Your guardian has been diverting your companies’ assets and profits to his own businesses. It has been going on for a while now, but there has been a substantial increase in activity over the past months.”

Stark was very pale and still. “What do you think he is planning?” he asked, and Phil frowned. It was inevitable that Stark would ask this, but it was the question he had been dreading. 

“I can’t say for sure,” he said, “but there are some shreds of evidence linking him to Killian.”

“Pepper’s Killian?”

Phil smiled. “I am not sure he is _Pepper’s_ ,” he said. “But yes. That Killian.”

“We need to confront him.” Stark pulled a bottle from under the workbench and poured himself a glass of whiskey. 

“You do.” He looked at the expression on Stark’s face. “I am very sorry, sir. I know you have been close to your guardian.”

Stark’s face was very blank. “Yeah,” he said. “Well, why should he be any different?” He shuddered and drained his drink. “He’s just the latest in a long line of people who mistake me for a feed trough or get close so they can position their daggers more accurately.”

“Sir,” Phil reached out and rested his hand on Stark’s arm. “If you’ll excuse me saying so, you also have people who care very deeply for you. Miss Potts does, Jarvis does, your friends do. There will always be people in this world who want to use you – but you are fortunate in having friends who can balance that out.” He stepped back. “You do need to confront Stane though, and I would advise you do it in such a way that will discourage others from trying to follow in his footsteps.”

Stark nodded, his face tight. “Let’s do it tomorrow,” he said, “at the fete. There’ll be an audience there – Lord Odinson, Lady Fury, the…” he gestured, “rest. Word will get out that I have no mercy when people attack me like this.”  
He looked down at the jet pack. “I’ll need someone else to fly this. If Obie thinks I am in the armour, his guard will be down and it will help me take him by surprise.”

“Who will you get to fly it for you?”

“I have no idea.” Stark laughed bitterly. “I don’t suppose you would be…”

“No, sir.” Phil smiled at him. “I most definitely would not.”

“In that case, maybe you could find someone who could help me.” He gestured at the file of notes Phil had laid down on his workbench. “I have a lot of reading to do before tomorrow.”

“Of course, sir. I will do my best for you.”

“Thank you.” Stark smiled at him, and Phil realised he had the faintest glimmering of understanding how Stark won such loyalty. “It’s bad enough that he would do this to me – I would have thought he had some loyalty to the memory of my father, even if he has none for me – but he’s dragged Pepper into his games.” Stark scowled. “It’s unforgivable. I can fight back, but she is dependent on her wages to live, and he has used that against her.” He looked at Phil, eyes wide. “I can’t let him get away with that.”

“No, sir.” Phil swallowed. “Although it is the lot of those of us without financial backing to learn pragmatism.”

“Pepper shouldn’t have to.” Stark stared at him, daring him to argue. “And if it means that she’ll have some measure of freedom, then I will make her a gift of enough money that she can make her choices without being beholden to anyone.”

“Her pride…” Phil began, and Stark laughed. 

“Her pride be damned,” he said. “She knows my financial circumstances – she will know I have spent less on setting her up a fund than I would spend on the least of my toys.” He gestured at his workshop. “And her job will remain for her – but no one – not even me – should be able to use that as a weapon against her.”

“It’s an admirable idea,” Phil said, wondering what he would do in Pepper’s circumstances. Pragmatism, he decided, would probably win out. “And I am sure she will understand the sentiment behind it.”

“I hope so.” Stark picked up some unlikely tool and looked at it sadly. “I never understand what makes people work.”

“They are more complex than machines,” Phil said, smiling gently. “But I have faith in you, sir.”

Stark smiled. “It’s good of you to say so,” he said. “I’ll do my best.” He clapped Phil on his shoulder. “And you’ll do your best finding me a pilot?”

“Of course,” Phil said, though he doubted he would find the promise easy to fulfil. 

In this, if in nothing else, luck was on Phil’s side. He had barely left the workshop before he walked almost straight into Lieutenant Barnes. 

There was the traditional flurry of very English apologies, but Phil noticed that Barnes seemed abstracted. 

“No,” Barnes said, with a slightly forced smile. “The fault was mine. And I do wish you’d call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Phil said. “And I am Phil.”

He held out his hand and with a quizzical look on his face Bucky shook it. 

“You’re Clint’s man, aren’t you?” he said. “I probably owe you an apology for the other night – I was unnecessarily short with Clint.”

“That’s a temptation it is all too easy to indulge,” Phil said with a smile. “If it is not rude to ask, has your situation resolved?”

“Not at all,” Bucky said. “Steve still thinks I’m in love with Natasha, and Wilson is still hanging round Steve waiting to take him away from me.” He scowled and swung so the clunky wooden prosthetic knocked against the wall. “And it’s not like he even needs the excuse that Natasha offers. Steve deserves better than me.”

It wouldn’t do to argue with him, Phil realised so he just nodded. “What do you intend to do about it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bucky said with a bitter laugh. “Maybe you can suggest something?” He laughed again. “Maybe I should take part in the contraption race as well.”

“Yes,” Phil said, a plan shaping in his mind. “Actually, that is a marvellous idea.”

“Oh, no,” Bucky said, his laugh genuine now. “No. I’m not Stark – there’s no way I can invent a contraption!”

“But there’s no need for you to do so,” Phil said. “Lord Stark needs someone to fly his jetpack tomorrow.” He grinned at Bucky. “All the glory, none of the inventing.”

“You know,” Bucky said. “That isn’t half a bad idea.” He chewed his thumbnail before his face fell. “But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Bucky gestured to his prosthetic. “Because of this,” he said. “I struggle to put on my own clothes. I hardly think I’ll be able to fly a jetpack.” 

Phil shrugged. “I don’t see how you can make that judgement,” he said. “Let’s put it to Stark.”

It put Phil in mind of the struggle in leading a skittish horse, but in the end he managed to talk Bucky into accompanying him into the workshop. 

“Lord Stark?” Phil cleared his throat, and Stark looked up from where he was studying the notes Phil had left him. “I think I might have resolved your problem.”

Stark’s face cleared and he smiled. “Barnes! Of course!” He clapped his hands together. “Just the man. Why on earth didn’t I think of you?”

“Because,” Bucky said, “I’m a cripple. Why _would_ you have thought of me?”

“Bucky,” Phil said seriously. “You have an injury. You are hardly a cripple.”

“He’s right,” Stark said. “Though…” he turned to Phil. “You call him Bucky? Why do you call me ‘my lord’?”

“Um,” Phil blinked, unsure of the turn the conversation had taken. “He asked me to call him Bucky?”

“In that case,” Stark said, “you have to call me Tony.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Of course _Tony_.” Tony scowled. 

“Tony,” Phil parroted. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Bucky following the argument, his head turning like the spectator at a tennis match. 

Satisfied, Tony nodded and turned to Bucky. “Now, what was this nonsense you were coming out with?” he asked, and Bucky’s face, temporarily relaxed, shuttered again. 

“It’s not nonsense,” he said. “I lost my arm in the war, and this prosthetic I have won’t let me do something like flying a jetpack.” He took a deep breath and the last of the animation ebbed from his eyes. “I can fetch Sam for you, though. He’d be good at piloting something like that.” 

“Well, I don’t want Sam,” Tony said, stubbornness writ large on every line of his face. “I want you. Take off your jacket and let me see.”

Phil noticed the flash of shame on Bucky’s face and remembered what he had said about his clothes. 

“If you will allow me,” he said. “That is a very well cut jacket, and you should take advantage of my skills as a valet.” He waved vaguely at the workshop. “It would be far too easy to brush against something oily in a place like this.”

For a second he was worried lest Tony argue and draw attention to his subterfuge, but he clapped his hands and gestured at Bucky.

“That’s just the thing,” he said. “Now, hurry up. I want to see this arm of yours so we can sort something out and you can get a test flight in before it gets dark.”

He was so matter of fact that it seemed to overcome the last of Bucky’s defences. Mutely, he let Phil help him from his coat, and as his arm was bared, Tony hissed. 

“Whoever fitted you with this should be shot,” he said. “How are you meant to do _anything_ with this? It’s barely even jointed!” He waved at Phil. “Get his shirt off him. I can make something better than this with my eyes closed.”

He’d already drafted the outline of an arm on some paper by the time Phil helped Bucky from his shirt, and, as Bucky leant over next to Tony and started offering feedback on the designs, Phil realised he might have solved more problems here than he had intended. 

He left the two men to it – they were so engrossed in the plans, and materials, they didn’t notice him leave. He hoped this worked out for both of them, of course, but the thought of the fete tomorrow still left him nervous. 

oOo

The fete itself was busier than Phil had anticipated – too busy in fact for him to be able to easily see Clint.

Despite an exceptionally cunning plan to force Clint to confide in him and allow him to help with whatever Loki had planned, Phil had been thwarted by Clint not returning to his rooms the previous evening. Nor had Phil been able to find hide or hair of him that morning. He could only hope that he would be able to find Clint before the fete got properly underway – he would certainly feel a lot more confident about a positive outcome if he could discover what Clint’s plans were. 

Unfortunately, he seemed to be able to find everyone bar Clint. 

“Coulson.” Tony’s face was set in a grim line. “I think I’ve discovered the nature of Obie’s involvement with Killian.”

“Really?” Thoughts of Clint were driven from Phil’s mind. “What did you find?” 

“It turns out my beloved guardian has been using my money to invest in Killian’s contraption for this race. He seems to think he can turn it into some sort of weapon.” 

“Why would he want to do that?” Phil frowned at Tony, puzzled. “I didn’t know he invested in weapons.”

“No, nor did I. He’s turning out to be full of surprises.” Tony scowled. “And as for the why? I suspect it’s money. I don’t think the money he’s been able to steal from my business is enough for him any more.” 

They walked over towards to area that had been roped off for the contraptions.

“And there we have it,” Tony said. “The thing my guardian values more than he values me.” He sniffed. “I can’t honestly say I think much of his taste.” 

“What is it?” Phil asked. “I mean, it looks like a fairly standard biplane to me. Surely Stane wouldn’t have risked everything for that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing special,” Tony said. “If I’d been trying to make something like that I would have done a much better job of it. No, the only thing that makes it in any way remarkable is that it doesn’t need a pilot and it can stay in the air for much longer than standard planes.” 

“How much longer?”

“Hours definitely,” Tony said. “Probably as much as a day.”

Phil whistled. “That _is_ impressive,” he said. “That could revolutionise air travel.”

“It could,” Tony said. “And it would if I were developing the technology, but I think my esteemed guardian is more interested in how it could be used to drop bombs.”

Phil froze. The horrors of the Great War were still too raw to be forgotten, despite the decade that had passed. The thought of what an unmanned aircraft could have done – the damage it could have inflicted – was horrific. 

“He can’t seriously be considering that?” Phil said, his voice little more than a whisper. 

Tony laughed humourlessly. “Oh, he’s doing more than considering it,” he said. “I’ve spoken to some of the men who supply me with tools for my workshop, and it turns out that Obie has been their biggest customer over the past few weeks. It looks like he is setting up a factory of his own to manufacture these on a mass scale.” 

“He can’t be allowed to do that,” Phil said. 

“No,” Tony said. “He can’t – though I’m not completely sure how I can stop him.” 

“We’ll think of something,” Phil said. “We have to – and beating him in the contest will be a good first step.” 

“Yes.” Tony’s face was grim. “So we’ll just have to hope that Barnes can manage to steer the jetsuit, won’t we?”

“He’s practiced, hasn’t he?” Phil asked, suddenly unsure. It had been late in the afternoon when he’d left Tony and Bucky, and they had still had the problem of Bucky’s arm to resolve. 

As if reading his mind, Tony nodded. “Yes,” he said. “He managed it perfectly well with the old prosthetic, and by the time I’d made the first version of a new arm for him he was flying like he was born to it. In fact,” Tony scanned the skies, a slight scowl twisting his mouth, “he’s out in it now. Said something about wanting to make an entrance.” 

“When does the competition start?” Phil asked, squinting at the horizon. 

“We still have half an hour,” Tony said. “What can possibly go wrong in that time?”

Phil left him by the contraptions and wandered off in the hope of finding Clint. He wasn’t successful, but he did find Lady Fury in the refreshment tent, supervising the set up of the cake competition with an iron will. 

“No, no!” She was shaking her finger at a luckless footman whose hands were full of what seemed to be blueprints. “The contraption display is over in _that_ corner. This side is for the Victoria Sponges.” 

She nodded at Phil in acknowledgement before turning her attention back to an unfortunate girl who approached her with two jars of jam. Phil used the opportunity to slip from the tent. 

Following a hunch, he went around the back of the tent and was completely unsurprised to find Clint examining a range of slightly concerning looking arrows. 

He looked up as Coulson approached but relaxed when he saw who it was. 

“I hope you’re not here to talk me out of this,” he said, his voice grim. “Because, trust me, I know everything that could go wrong here, and I still don’t have any choice.”

“You know your Aunt is organising the cake competition in the refreshment tent?” Phil asked, and Clint nodded grimly. 

“I am more than aware of that,” he said, “and my only hope of survival after this is clearly to flee the country.” He grinned at Phil, sudden and bright. “So, are you with me Phil?”

Phil sighed. “Was there ever any doubt?” he asked. “Clint.”

For a second Clint looked stunned but then he smiled hugely and sprang to his feet. “In that case,” he said pressing an impulsive kiss to the corner of Phil’s mouth, “what can possibly go wrong?”

“Well, you could tempt fate,” Phil said dryly. “But actually I have a good feeling about this.” He looked at Clint, considering their options. “Come with me – let’s watch the contraption competition together.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Clint gestured at his bow and arrows. “I can’t really leave these behind me.” 

“Bring them with you,” Phil said. “I doubt anyone will notice them – they’ll all be watching the contraptions.”

Clint looked at him sceptically but then nodded. “If you think it’s a good idea, then I’ll trust you.” 

Phil wasn’t sure _why_ he thought it was a good idea, but he did, and as Clint followed him back to the field that was to be used for the contraption competition, his hand resting gently on the small of Phil’s back, he had no qualms at all. 

The first contraption to be displayed was Killian’s biplane, and the collected audience applauded appreciatively as he stepped out. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Killian held out a hand to silence the applause. “You are about to witness not only the winner of the contraption competition, but also the future of flight! I have pleasure in allowing you be the first to witness the amazing remote-controlled, perpetually flying biplane!”

He picked up a box and waved it at the crowd with a flourish. 

“And now,” he said, “we have lift off.” 

Clint glanced sideways at Phil. “I suspect there’s some plan of Killian’s that I’m missing here,” he said, “but you’ve got to admit, that’s impressive.”

Phil nodded. “It is,” he said. “Though I would imagine if it were being used to bomb you, you would be less impressed.”

Clint whistled between his teeth. “Stane?”

“Yes. He’s been using Stark’s money to fund a factory that’s going to use that prototype to build a range of pilotless planes that can be used to bomb targets more than a day’s flight away.”

“That,” Clint said, “is much less impressive. So, what do you have planned?”

“At the moment?” Phil shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Well, you’ve only just seen the plane,” Clint said with a grin. “Give you another ten minutes and I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

It made Phil laugh, and he craned his neck to watch the biplane circle above them. Around them, the awed hush of the crowd started to be broken by conversations and laughter. 

“He might intend this to be a weapon of shock and awe,” Clint said in an undertone, “but I’m not sure it’s the sort of thing that holds mass crowd appeal.” He nudged Phil. “You want to see if we can go bob for apples before the queue gets too long? Or should we wait and see what Tony’s got up his sleeve?”

“We should wait and see Tony’s exhibit,” Phil said. “I’m fairly sure that will be a crowd-pleaser and…”

“Clint! Coulson.” Captain Rogers had made his way through the crowd to them, Major Wilson at his side. “You’re here to see Tony’s contraption as well?”

“Seems like it,” Clint said with a shrug. “How did you get roped into this?”

“Oh, Bucky is involved somehow,” Rogers said. “We couldn’t let him perform without an audience.” 

“Rogers means he caught a glimpse of Buck’s performance outfit and wanted a chance to ogle him,” Wilson said, dodging the half-hearted punch Rogers threw. 

“And what are you doing here then?” Rogers said. “Protecting my modesty?”

“Oh, I didn’t say I wasn’t going to ogle as well,” Wilson said. “Just pointing out that it was your motivation.”

Phil was quite sure that the bickering could have continued indefinitely, but they were silenced as Tony took to the field. 

“Thank you, Mr. Killian,” he said, voice amplified by the megaphone he held. “What an interesting aircraft that is. I am sure we could all watch it fly all day.” There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd as Killian’s face twisted angrily. “However, you are not the only competitor who has entered a flying contraption in the competition.” 

Tony held his hand up to shade his eyes in a pantomime of searching the horizon. “In fact,” he announced, “what can that be in the sky right now? Is it a bird? Is it your plane?” The crowd whistled and cat-called in response to Tony’s gestures. “No,” he shouted, building the tension to a crescendo. “It’s _Iron Man_!”

The crowd erupted with wild cheers as Bucky, dressed in the jet-suit, dropped from the sky onto one knee in the middle of the field, the sun catching on the metal of his left arm. 

Phil heard Steve inhale in concern, but before he could say anything Bucky was on his feet again, bowing to the crowd before taking off, hovering about five feet above the field. 

“More economical than a plane, more manoeuvrable than a bird, the Iron Man suit lets _you_ take to the skies and experience the wonders of flight,” Tony said. “You can swoop like a swallow, hover like an owl, soar like an eagle…”

The crowd went wild as Bucky demonstrated each of those abilities, turning lazy somersaults over their heads before grabbing the cap off a young boy and shooting high into the air. Far above them he paused, as if standing on air and waved the cap, before letting it fall. He waited until it was less than ten feet above the crowd before be executed a perfect dive, catching the cap with his metal hand just before it hit the ground and replacing it on the ecstatic child’s head. 

Even in the midst of his awe at the jetsuit, Phil found that he still had admiration to spare for the engineering that had gone into Bucky’s new arm. Even from where he was standing he could see that he had far more movement and dexterity than he had with his old arm – and, knowing Tony, that would only improve.

Throughout the display, Killian had been watching with a face like thunder, but this seemed like a step too far and he stormed onto the field. 

“I am sure we are all impressed by Lord Stark’s showmanship,” he shouted, face red. “But I wonder, Ladies and Gentlemen, just how manoeuvrable is this suit of his?” He held his arms out to the audience, encouraging their jeers. “Shall we test him?”

His face twisted into a sneer, and he took the control box in both hands. Overhead, the biplane swerved out of the lazy circles it had been moving in and started moving intently towards Bucky. 

Phil heard the gasps of the crowd, and above them the gasps of fear from Steve and Sam, but he couldn’t look away as Bucky narrowly avoided the plane. 

It was the opening move in a game of high stakes cat and mouse. Tony’s suit was more manoeuvrable, and Bucky seemed more than capable of piloting it – but Phil was very aware that Bucky hadn’t had the chance to become experienced with the idiosyncrasies that any project like this would have, and that his safety was as much a matter of luck as it was of judgement. 

He was assuming, however, that Killian was more familiar with his biplane than Bucky was with the Iron Man suit, but as Killian steered the plane into a steep dive to chase Bucky, it became apparent that this was not the case. 

Instead of following the smooth curve of Bucky’s descent, the plane’s engines faltered and cut out. Killian swore and hit the control box, but although the engines started again, the plane was now weaving wildly – and still descending towards the crowd assembled on the field. 

A young woman screamed, and Bucky turned, halting his descent mid-air. 

“He’s lost control of the plane,” Steve shouted. “Buck, you need to stop it.”

Bucky nodded, and launched back upwards. Phil held his breath as Bucky wrangled the plane, but he managed to get himself safely into the cockpit, and it didn’t take many seconds before the plane levelled out. 

“The control’s patchy,” he shouted as he circled overhead. “I don’t think I can land it.” 

“The lake,” Tony shouted through the megaphone. “Dump it into the lake.”

Bucky nodded and aimed the plane towards the next field.

“Dammit, Buck…” Steve took off after the plane, as if he could run fast enough to catch it, and Sam, Phil, and Clint followed hard on his heels. 

They vaulted the fence into the next field and were just in time to see Bucky throw himself from the cockpit just feet before the plane was going to strike the shallow lake. 

“No!” Phil looked round and saw that Killian had kept up with them and was red-faced with rage. “Not my plane!” He shook the control box furiously and crowed with relief as the plane pulled out of the dive. “You thought you could destroy my plane, didn’t you Stark?” His voice didn’t sound rational. “Well, you didn’t succeed and now you’ll see that…”

Beside Phil, Clint skidded to a halt and raised his bow, pulling an arrow from the quiver on his shoulder. He aimed and let the arrow loose in one smooth motion.

There was a tiny clink as the arrow struck the plane, barely audible over its engines, and then the plane exploded. 

“Whoops,” Clint said, sounding anything but repentant. “I forgot I had those exploding arrows.”

It struck Phil as stupidly, massively hilarious and he stopped dead, gasping out a laugh. Ahead of them, though, Steve and Sam didn’t falter; they ploughed on into the lake, calling for Bucky. 

“What’s wrong?” Clint said, slinging his bow back over his shoulder. “Where’s Bucky?”

“I don’t think the Iron Man suit started again when he got out of the plane,” Phil said. “He fell into the lake.”

“That suit must weigh a lot,” Clint said, his voice grim and Phil nodded. 

“And his new prosthetic arm is made of metal,” he said. 

They ran to the edge of the lake, but by the time they got there, Sam and Steve were already pulling Bucky back to shore.

He was spluttering and struggling in their grip and Phil let out a huff of relief. 

“Thank God,” he said. “He’s safe.”

Sam and Steve manhandled him onto shore, and Steve crouched down by him while Sam started to pull the armour from his body. 

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Steve sounded angrier than Phil had assumed he could get, but Bucky just shrugged. 

“Stark needed help,” he said. “And I thought it looked cool.”

“Trying to impress Natasha,” Steve said, still clearly furious. “For God’s sake, Buck, she’s back together with Banner. You have to let her go.” 

“Natasha?” Bucky looked bewildered. “Why would I be trying to impress _Natasha_?”

“Because you love her?” Steve looked at him, perplexed. 

“But I don’t love _her_ ,” Bucky said, while Clint elbowed Phil in the ribs with barely-suppressed excitement.

“But if you didn’t do it for her, why did you do it?” Steve asked, and Bucky sighed. 

“You, Steve.” Bucky looked away, his face a picture of forlorn hope. “It’s always been you.”

“Oh.” Steve’s hand dropped from Bucky’s face and he looked at Bucky in complete confusion. Sam, however, had no such confusion. 

Letting the breastplate of the armour drop to the ground, he stood up.

“I’ll leave you to this,” he said, his voice tight with control. “You don’t need an audience right now.”

“No.” Bucky held out his hand to stop him. “Don’t go. Steve, I know how you feel about Sam. I don’t mind. I just want you two to be happy, and, if you can, to have time for our friendship as well.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Steve said, his voice carefully gentle. “Sam, do you know what he means?”

Sam shrugged. “I guess he means how I feel about you both,” he said. “But, Buck, I know that ain’t gonna happen, you know. There’s no way Steve would even look at me when you’re around.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “But somebody is going to have to explain this to me, because I don’t understand what either of you are on about.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Clint said, his voice torn between humour and exasperation. “Isn’t it obvious?”

The three men turned to look at Clint, and Phil cleared his throat.

“I think what Mr. Barton is trying to say is that Lieutenant Barnes is in love with you, Captain Rogers, and that Major Wilson is in love with the both of you.” He coughed delicately. “And perhaps, that the wisest thing you could do right now is to tell them both how you feel about both of them.”

“Steve?” Bucky reached out. “Sam? Really?”

Clint took Phil gently by the elbow. “Well said,” he whispered. “But I don’t think we’re needed here right now.”

“No.” A voice next to them made them startle and they looked up to see that Loki had joined them, unnoticed in the chaos. “In fact, touching as this scene is, darling, I think you’ll find that we have plans that need attending to.”

oOo

No matter how bad Phil had thought the attack on the refreshment tent would be, the reality was infinitely worse. 

There was cake _everywhere_ including a large gobbet of white frosting that had hit Lady Fury on the eye patch and was slowly sliding down the frozen disapproval of her face. 

Fortunately for Phil’s _sang froid_ , it was Loki who was making most of the mess. He was belting around the tent, yodelling his defiance at anyone who attempted to stop him, and slinging anything his could get his hands on at the horrified diners. Lady Fury had not escaped his attack, nor had his father and brother, nor Obadiah Stane. 

Clint, on the other hand, had entered the tent, spotted the blueprints of the contraptions and concentrated his destructive efforts on those. Stane hadn’t noticed this to begin with, but when he had cleared the custard from his eyes he rose from his chair, his face livid. 

Clint met his eyes with a calm expression, and fired another of his pondweed arrows at the biplane plans without looking. 

Phil looked on in satisfaction, and was only recalled to himself when he was struck sharply between the shoulder blades by a projectile cream horn launched by Loki from the other side of the tent. 

“Right.” Dr. Banner had seen what had happened and stood up from where he had been drinking tea with Natasha. “That is _quite_ enough.”

He grabbed hold of Loki, lifting him bodily off the ground.

“I don’t know what you are hoping to achieve,” he said, “but you have interrupted my conversation with my fiancée, spoiled tea for everyone here, and _ruined_ Mr. Coulson’s jacket. It is despicable behaviour and…”

“And yet not the most despicable behaviour to be found in this tent.” Tony walked in through the tent flap, his face grim. “I think that particular honour goes to my former guardian, doesn’t it, Obie?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Stane looked at Tony with feigned innocence. “I was just trying to stop this hoodlum from destroying the plans for your jetsuit.”

“After those as well, were you?” Tony asked with a sneer. “Clint, would you mind?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Clint said, firing another arrow into the heart of the Iron Man plans, and Tony smiled. 

“So now you have no plane and no plans,” he said to Stane. “And if you think you’ll be able to get Killian to recreate them for you, well…” He walked up to Stane and flicked his chest. “He tried to fly a plane into a field of innocent bystanders, and I have made it very clear what will happen to him if he ever contacts you again.”

Stane flushed red. “You little bastard,” he said, his voice evil. “You were a disappointment to your father and you’re a disappointment to me. Your genius?” He sneered. “It’s worthless. You’re a dilettante who doesn’t deserve anything he has, and everyone will realise it soon enough.” He knocked Tony’s hand away. “And then? You’ll be alone and none of your undeserved wealth will be enough to buy you new friends.”

“How dare you.” Pepper stood up from where she had been crouching, hiding from Loki’s onslaught. Her face was pale with rage. “How _dare_ you. Lord Stark will always be loved by his true friends – not for his money, and not for his genius – but because he is one of the warmest, most caring, most generous men you will ever meet.”

“Oh, the serving maid,” Stane said with a sneer. “What? You think he’s going to set you up as his mistress? Think he’ll shell out for a few pretty jewels in exchange for access to your _charms_?” He spat at her feet. “You’ll be disappointed. He never bothers paying for cheap goods and you, my dear, are nothing but a cheap…”

He was cut off as Tony grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him bodily so he could punch him in the face. Stane dropped like a sack of potatoes and Tony towered over him. 

“ _Never_ talk to her like that again,” he shouted, angrier now than when he had confronted him about the biplane. “She is the woman that I love and you will treat her with respect.” 

He looked round at Pepper, a look of horror on his face as his brain caught up with his words. 

“Or, um.” He gestured randomly. “I…”

She smiled gently and reached out to him.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I feel the same way.”

“Pepper.” He took her in his arms and kissed her. Stane tried to struggle to his feet.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Phil said, pushing him back to the floor with a shoe on his chest. “I think you and I have to come to an understanding.”

“Thank you.” Lady Fury appeared at his shoulder. “I can take it from here.” She smiled down at Stane, wholly without humour. “I am part of an organisation that has been investigating Mr. Stane for a little while now, and I think you’ve collected the evidence we need to _proceed_.”

Still prone, Stane sneered. “I’ll have my day in court,” he said. “And what I can say about Lord Stark will ruin his _happily ever after_ here.”

“Oh dear.” Lady Fury smiled down at him pleasantly. “I think we are operating at cross purposes here, Mr. Stane. You see,” she leant closer, her voice low, “there won’t be a court case, or due process, or any of that inconveniently time consuming protocol.” She rested the point of her walking cane on his Adam’s apple. “The organisation I work for operates by _quite_ different rules, but I expect you will come to see that – in time.”

Phil met Clint’s eye, and without a word they took a step back. 

“She’s more than capable of dealing with him,” Clint said in an undertone. “Besides, look.”

He gestured towards Tony who was down on one knee in front of Pepper, her hand clasped in his. It was obvious at a glance that they were both deliriously happy and Phil smiled, relaxing slightly into Clint’s side. 

“Oh, how marvellous,” someone said, and the crowd, splatted with cream and cake as they were, started applauding. 

Even Dr. Banner was among those congratulating Tony, and as Phil looked round he spotted Loki at the entrance to the tent, making good his escape. 

So, apparently, did his father.

“Boy!” Lord Odinson’s voice was a bellow, and it took him very few strides to reach his son and take him by the ear. “I neither know nor care what you meant by these actions. I have had a bellyful of your behaviour and it’s time you learnt the error of your ways. You,” he turned Loki to face him, “are going to _school_.”

Phil only caught the flash of triumph on Loki’s face because he was watching for it. In less that the blink of an eye, he was a contrite and repentant child, dedicated to appeasing his father by submitting to his whims. 

“It’ll do him good,” Clint said. “Though I bet you’re even happier you didn’t take the teaching position there now.”

“No,” Phil agreed in an undertone. “I am quite happy with my position right now.”


	6. Very Well, Coulson

It wasn’t often that Phil allowed himself the luxury of abandoning his duty, but when Clint started tugging on his arm and trying to pull him from the heat of the refreshment tent into the last rays of late afternoon sunshine, he found he couldn’t resist. 

It was the work of only a few moments to liberate a bottle of something sparkling and a couple of glasses to bring with them, and from their vantage point at the far end of the field they had a good view of the remaining shenanigans. 

It felt almost surreal – the clink of glasses, the high pitched buzz of bubbles against the glass, the warmth of Clint’s thigh against his – and as Tony and Pepper approached, hand in hand, he shook himself, as if waking himself up. 

“So.” Clint grinned at them. “You finally popped the question?”

“I did indeed.” Tony kissed Pepper’s cheek. “And she said yes.”

“And I thought you were a woman of sense.” Phil shook his head sadly, and Clint stifled his laughter in Phil’s hair. 

Pepper, on the other hand, just shook her head with feigned sadness. “He lay his self, his future, and his fortune at my feet,” she said. “And I _am_ a woman of sense. What else could I do but take them up?”

“There was no other reason?” Tony said, taking a small step back from her. “Not my charm? Or my devilish good looks?”

Pepper tapped her chin with her finger. “I suppose you look cute,” she said thoughtfully. “Like the last puppy in the shop.”

Beside him, Clint huffed a soft laugh at the look of horror on Tony’s face, and Phil cleared his throat. 

“What are you going to do now that Stane is out of the picture?” he asked. 

Tony reluctantly turned away from his _sotto voce_ squabble with Pepper and shrugged. “There’ll be a lot of work to do,” he said. “You saw how much of a mess he’d made of my accounts.”

“Fortunately, though, he’ll have help,” Pepper said, slipping her arm through Tony’s. “Someone has to deal with the paperwork while he gets on with the _inventing_.”

“You sound sceptical,” Tony said. “I’m not sure why. Clint, do you know why?”

“I’ve no idea,” Clint said, though he sounded suspiciously close to laughing. “I’ve never doubted you, Stark.”

“At least my friends appreciate me,” he told Pepper, and Phil tactfully averted his eyes as they started kissing. 

Of course, that meant he was looking directly at Clint; at the faint lines at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, the way the sun caught the highlights of his hair… He jumped as Tony pointedly cleared his throat. From the look on his face he had been waiting quite some time for their attention, but as he opened his mouth Pepper clipped him around the ear. 

“Play nice,” she said, and Tony sighed. 

“What will you be doing now?” he asked, pulling a face at Pepper. 

“This and that,” Clint said. “We need to get back to London, of course, but…”

“You won’t be staying there.” Pepper said. “I can understand that.”

“Why?” Tony looked puzzled. “London’s great. Why would you want to leave London?”

Clint raised his eyebrow at Tony and put his arm round Phil, pulling him close. 

“Call me fussy,” he said, “but I don’t want to be in a relationship with someone I’m paying.”

Tony’s face twisted. “Oh,” he said. “Yes. I can understand that.” He glanced at Pepper. “That’s why I set up a trust fund yesterday for Pepp, of course.”

“What?” She turned to look at him, dumbfounded. “Tony…”

“Well,” he said. “I couldn’t have you choosing me because you thought I was the only choice, could I?”

“But…” She stared at him. “I can’t take that.”

“Of course you can,” he said. “I mean – you don’t even know how much it is yet, but you’ve more than earned it.” 

“Well, we can’t all do that,” Clint said, smoothing his hand down Phil’s arm. “So, London isn’t an option just now.” 

“He could work for me?” Tony said, a hopeful note to his voice. “I’d be happy…”

“No,” Clint said flatly. “I am not having the man I love employed by you, Tony.”

“It needn’t be as a valet,” Tony said. “I could do with someone to manage my business, and…”

“No,” Phil said. “Thank you, but that really won’t be necessary.”

Tony sighed and Pepper punched him in the arm. 

“You’d be welcome here if you ever change your mind,” she said, “but I think you’re right – you should get away for a while.”

They wandered away, arm in arm, their laughter drifting back across the grass. 

“They make a good couple,” Clint said. “Do you think she will be able to sort out his business?”

“Better than most people,” Phil said. “Though…” he glanced up at Clint, “what are you planning to do now?”

“We,” Clint said with a smile. “I think you meant what are we going to do now.”

“Yes,” Phil said, shocked at the realisation. “I hadn’t thought of it that…”

“Barton.”

They looked up to find Natasha and Dr. Banner waiting for them. 

“Yes?” Clint sounded perfectly amicable, but Phil could feel the tension in his body. 

Dr. Banner cleared his throat. “Natasha has been explaining things to me,” he said somewhat stiffly, “and I believe I owe you an apology.” 

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Clint said, forcing a laugh. “Plenty of people have punched me into ponds, after all.” 

“Nevertheless,” Banner looked down at his feet, “my temper got the better of me and I said and did things I shouldn’t have.”

Clint nodded. “Apology accepted,” he said. “And I hope the two of you will be very happy together.” He looked at Natasha, standing somewhat apart from Banner, a small smile on her lips. “In fact I am sure you will be.”

“We will be,” she said, inclining her head towards Clint. “Though you made a passable temporary fiancé.”

Clint did his best to hide behind Phil, while Phil did his best to maintain his countenance. 

“You will be returning to London?” he asked, and Natasha shook her head. 

“Bruce wants to keep this engagement short,” she said. “We might be travelling north from here.”

“Gretna Green?” Clint asked. “That would suit you perfectly.”

Natasha laughed. “We think so,” she said. “And that’s all that matters.” She paused and stared at the slim figure of Loki approaching across the grass. “Now, what is he doing here?”

“Miz Romanov,” Loki said with a small bow. “Dr. Banner. I wanted to apologise for the inconvenience I put you to.” He glanced back towards the house where Phil could see the forbidding figure of Lord Odinson. “I acted most inappropriately and I am sorry you were caught up in it.”

Banner opened his mouth to speak, but Natasha took him firmly by the arm. “Apology not accepted,” she said shortly. “You got in the way of my plans, you tried to steal my fiancé for yourself. Worst of all,” she levelled her finger at him and narrowed her eyes, “you got jam on my new hat. And now you apologise to Bruce instead of me?” She stalked over to him, walking around him like he was an exhibit in a zoo that displeased her. “Little boys like you need to learn your place, and if you come across my path again,” she leant in so her lips were almost touching his ear, “I will teach you.” She straightened up and smoothed her dress down. “I trust I am understood?”

Loki nodded, his eyes wide, and she smiled coldly and turned. 

“Come, Bruce. I need to pack.” They strolled off across the grass, Natasha shooting a dangerous look back over her shoulder at Loki as they went. 

“So, you gonna apologise to us too?” Clint asked, and Loki laughed. 

“Goodness,” he said, recovering some of his élan, “not at all. Father told me I had to apologise to people, but I think you know me too well to fall for that.”

“You’re not sorry then?” Phil said and Loki shook his head. 

“Not at all.” He grinned at them gleefully. “I’m going to get to go to _school_ now, and away from _him_.” He gestured to where his father was beckoning him from the driveway. “Do you have any idea how _dull_ it’s been since Thor left? Stuck there with him?”

“I can guess,” Phil said. “And I hope that school works out for you.”

“Do you think it will?” Clint asked as Loki trotted off over the lawn, back to his father, and Phil laughed softly. 

“It’ll be good for him to have people his own age around him,” he said. “Having to work as part of a team will do him the world of good.”

“God help the teachers though,” Clint said, and Phil nodded. 

They sat there in peace for a few minutes. Phil topped up their glasses; Clint started picking some daisies and linking them into a chain. 

“We should get going,” Phil said, though he felt lazy and disinclined to move. “Soon.”

Clint hummed an approving noise and draped the daisy chain he’d made over Phil’s head like a crown. 

“Soon,” he said. “There are still some people we need to see here, and it’s better that we see them now.” He took Phil’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Otherwise they’ll just follow us and we’ll never get a minute’s peace.” 

“I see what you mean.” Steve, Sam, and Bucky were all approaching, and, apparently, taking part in some sort of nonchalant walk competition. 

Clint sniggered. “To be fair, I think they’re after somewhere they can find a bit of privacy, rather than us,” he said. “Still… Guys!” 

Bucky and Sam exchanged a somewhat shifty look, but Steve elbowed them in the ribs and by the time they got close they were looking almost genial again, even if Steve was a little pink around the ears. 

“So.” Clint had a look of almost unholy glee on his face. “You off to check for wildflowers in the wood or something, cos…”

He broke off with a hurt look as Phil’s elbow accidentally slipped into his stomach. 

“Have you recovered from the crash, Lieutenant?” Phil asked over the sound of Clint’s spluttering, and Bucky nodded with a grin. 

“Yeah,” he said. “It stunned me a bit, but I’ve had worse.”

“Which is nothing to be proud of,” Steve said sternly. “You should have let us know what you had planned, Buck.”

“Shoulda, woulda, coulda,” Bucky said, linking his arms with Steve and Sam. “It all worked out for the best.” 

Phil smiled – Bucky, he noticed, wasn’t shying away from using his left arm for a change. “You did good work with the biplane,” he said. “I thought there was going to be real trouble there.” 

“You and me both,” Bucky said. “Though I did like Stark’s flight suit.”

Steve rolled his lips in a tight frown but Sam grinned. “I’m going to see if I can have a go on it next,” he said. “Think of what I could do with a suit like that.”

Steve reached around Bucky and smacked Sam round the ear. “You’d get in even more trouble,” he said. “And I’ve had quite enough of that.”

“Besides,” Bucky said with a lewd grin, “I have something else you can have a go on.”

Steve groaned and shook his head sadly. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this,” he said. “I really don’t.”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Clint said. “And if you’re looking for somewhere private…”

“May I recommend the boathouse,” Phil said smoothly. 

“What did you tell them that for?” Clint said peevishly after they’d headed off towards the lake. “I had plans for that boathouse.”

“I am sure you did, sir,” Phil said, mock polite. “But I would prefer to wait until we got back to London if it’s all the same to you.” He kissed Clint’s temple. “Besides, isn’t that your Aunt?”

It was indeed Lady Fury, picking her way across the grass towards them, with a line of servants, loaded with miscellaneous items, trailing behind her. The expression on her face could not be called promising, but Clint just sighed.

“We’d better face up to her,” he said. “We’ll never get a moment of peace if we don’t.” 

“Ungrateful whelp,” she said, as soon as she was in easy earshot. “Making me trek across to you like some sort of Sherpa. Do you think I would have gotten away with behaviour like this when I was young?” She pointed her cane at Clint. “I would not. And because I had proper respect for my elders and betters, I wouldn’t have even tried.”

“Terribly sorry,” Clint said, sounding anything but. “But I didn’t know you were looking for me. I would have come to you if I had.”

“Ignorance is no excuse at all,” Lady Fury said and she gestured imperiously to one of her entourage, who hastened forward and erected a folding chair for her to sit on. 

She waited until he bowed himself away before turning her attention back to her nephew. 

“You’ll know why I am here,” she started, “and…”

“And you think you can come over and sit in judgement of me,” Clint said. “As you always do.” He stood up and approached his Aunt. “You may not approve of my actions, Aunt. You may not approve of my attire, or my friends, or the man I have fallen in love with. But if you think you can browbeat me into feeling bad about myself then you are very sadly mistaken.” He took a deep breath. “I owe you a great deal, and I will always love you, but if you can’t speak to me like an adult, then you will no longer be welcome in my house or my life.”

He jutted his jaw defiantly, and Phil thought that perhaps only he could see how Clint’s hands, clasped behind his back were shaking, and only he knew what this outburst had cost him. 

His Aunt looked him up and down, though the expression on her face had softened considerably. 

“If you had waited for me to speak, boy, I was going to praise your behaviour.” She sniffed. “You showed judgement and quick thinking in this whole affair, and while you shouldn’t have gotten entangled with the Odinson boy in the first place, you managed to turn the affair off to advantage.” She glared at him as if to dare him to have warm feelings in the face of her praise. “Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do next? London won’t do for you at all.”

“I’m aware of that,” Clint said coldly. “I was thinking we might travel. Europe maybe, or America.”

“That will do to start,” she said. “I suppose you deserve some sort of holiday, but I won’t see you wasting your potential.” 

“You think I have potential?” Clint sounded honestly shocked, and his Aunt blinked at him.

“Of course I do,” she said. “Why on earth would I have spent so much time and attention on you if I didn’t?”

“I thought you just enjoyed shouting,” Clint said. “I didn’t realise you thought I had _potential_.”

“Well…” Lady Fury rolled her lips together into a thin line. “I do. And I think that he,” she waved her can towards Phil, “will be the making of you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Phil said going to stand next to Clint. “But I don’t think there is anything about Clint that needs improvement.”

“I will make allowances,” she said, glaring at him, “for the blindness love engenders, but I think that this relationship will be beneficial for the both of you.” She waited, daring them to speak, and when they remained silent she nodded. “So, you will travel. I approve of that. Every young person benefits from travel – it broadens the mind and completes the education. But once you have travelled you need to think of your futures.”

“And you have ideas about this?” Clint asked. “Because I assume Phil would like to have some input into his future. I _know_ I would.”

“Which is why I am asking rather than telling,” Lady Fury said. “I have properties in South America.” She paused. “Extensive properties. They have a role to play in the political status quo of the region, and I have been aware for some time that they need a closer eye kept on them than I am able to provide.”

“And you want me to go there as your mouthpiece?” Clint said.

Lady Fury shook her head. “I want both of you to go there,” she said. “And given the distance and difficulty you will find in communications, you will have free rein to run the properties as you will. I will travel out with you to introduce you, and to brief you on what you will find, but while I hope you will bear in mind the advice I will give, your roles will not be contingent upon your obedience.” She looked at them, and Phil realised that she was not sure what their response would be. “Well, nephew? What are your thoughts?”

“I’ll need to discuss it with Phil,” Clint said. “It’s early days and I don’t want to rush things, but,” he glanced at Phil, “it’s a very generous offer, and I am grateful to you.” 

She nodded and rose. “You will call on me after your travels in Europe,” she said. “You can inform me of your decision then, and regale me with tales of your adventures.” She smiled – genuine for the first time. “I am convinced you will have plenty to tell me.” 

They walked back with her to where Phil had parked Lola, and waited until she had climbed into her sturdy carriage before climbing into the car themselves. 

“Would you mind awfully, Phil, if we went straight back to London?” Clint looked at him hopefully. “I do love my friends but…”

Phil nodded. “I presumed that much,” he said, “and packed your clothes for you this morning.” He smiled at Clint. “I did think we might need to make a quick getaway after Loki’s plans.”

“You think of everything,” Clint said, sinking happily into Lola’s leather seat. “Seriously, Phil. You have no idea how glad I am that all that is behind me.”

“You did well,” Phil said. “Not that I had any doubt you would.”

“No,” Clint said, looking at him. “You didn’t, did you?” He watched the fields slip past as Phil picked up speed down the country lanes. 

“I don’t think I’ll get engaged again,” he announced at length. “None of those others appealed at all, and well…” He looked at Phil under his lashes. “A chap can’t really go asking another chap that sort of thing, can he?”

“Probably not,” Phil said, fighting to suppress his smile. “At least not until they know each other a bit better.”

“Exactly!” Clint’s grin grew mischievous. “In any case, it would need to be romantic.” He assumed an innocent look. “South America is very romantic, isn’t it, Phil?”

“Very,” Phil said, failing now to hide his smile. “Does that mean you’ll take your Aunt up on her offer?”

“Probably,” Clint said he touched Phil’s hand, where it lay on the gear stick, and smiled. “But only if you come with me.” 

It was tempting, and as the miles rolled away and London crept closer, Phil thought that South America was definitely in his future. 

It was only as they entered London, that Clint roused himself again. 

“I say, Phil? Do you ever wonder what happened to those other two chaps? The ones the Agency messed up?”  
   
Phil looked at him, eyebrow quirked.  
   
“I can’t say that I do, _sir_ ,” he said. 

“Oh, well.” Clint smiled at him, relaxed and happy. “I’m much better off with you. I just thought, I hope they got on as well as we did.”

“I’m sure they will,” Phil said, as the car drew to a stop outside Clint’s flat. “Name like Jeeves, he’s bound to be capable of dealing with anything.”

“Not me though,” Clint said, swinging himself out of the car and offering his hand to Phil. It was dark by now, and he pulled Phil close, kissing him until Phil felt breathless. 

“No,” Phil said, when he finally pulled away. “Never you.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Illustrations to "Leave it to Coulson"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2500094) by [immoral_crow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/immoral_crow/pseuds/immoral_crow), [johanirae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johanirae/pseuds/johanirae)




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